The Queen's Waltz
by VoiDreamer
Summary: It was to her tune that Albion would dance, what she commanded they would obey. But to the man who was her brother, she was but a lonely dancer. And so he stepped in once more to continue the dance beside her.  Thematic Char.Study Princess Rose and Logan
1. 01 Warmth

**AN:** So I know that I really need to update _Space Between_, and the chapter is indeed in the works. But I wanted to get this piece out too since I'm absolutely fascinated by the character of Logan and want to complicate our understanding of him in Fable 3. I have not, admittedly played the game but I have watched enough vids to (mostly) supplement my lack of game-time. As it is, if there is any discrepancy, please let me know and I will do my best to fix it :)

Feel free to comment or provide constructive criticism, I am always looking for ways to improve!

Thank you very much (and no, I don't own Fable 3 or it's characters - they belong to Peter Molyneux).

~Voi

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**Theme 01: Warmth**

She is the Queen of Albion now.

The revolution is over, the kingdom is united once more and she sits upon the throne in the castle that embodies both her past and her future.

There is a crown atop her hair, and the wrought gold feels like heavy weight though it is more upon her shoulders than her head that she feels it most. She feels anxious at so weighty a burden but there is no one with whom she can share her thoughts. The gown she had worn for the ceremony fits comfortably before she sat down, but now that too feels wrong, feels out of place. And again there is no one in which she can confide these silly little personal problems. Because _she_ is not important anymore, _Albion_ is.

She has won the victory she sought, saved the kingdom from her tyrant brother, all should be well. Yet, the longer she sits on the throne the more the feelings eat away at her.

_Loneliness._

_Bitter Cold. _

_Isolation. _

After several hours of ceaseless governing her body aches though it is from an exertion that is anything but physical. And that is when she wishes for her brother, finding herself surprised when he does indeed appear at the foot of the dais, his face pale but resolute, a guard at his side.

Sir Walter is speaking to her then, but she cannot hear him over the roar in her ears, attention too sharply taken by the way her eyes meet her brothers' and lock.

_They are of the same blood, of the same mind. _

She has not seen him since she first stormed the hall and found him waiting for her. Lost in the chaos of fire and violence she only dimly remembers Sir Walter taking him to a cell in the dungeon though where specifically she did not know.

But as she watches him now she knows with sudden startling clarity that she cannot kill him, _will not_ kill him. Even though he has hurt her deeply and forced upon her the decisions that have led her to sit on this throne, she is her mother's daughter and will not bend to petty vengeance.

"Logan."

His name is on her lips before any of her companions can speak, before they can remind her that _he_ is the reason they have all been hurt so deeply,

_For she has not forgotten what he has done_, a_nd she alone bears the most serious of the scars. _

"Logan, come here."

She calls to him then, rising to her feet as he begins to climb the stairs. He has ever been the deliberate one and he is more than halfway up the small steps before she meets him, her diminutive figure only slightly taller than him despite both the elevation difference and the crown on her head.

Close enough to see the scar on his lip, she pauses, suddenly hesitant. And in the next instant he speaks her name; if just to remind them both that they are more siblings than adversaries.

"Rose."

He doesn't bother commanding his voice lower, for silence has fallen over the surrounding crowd, and all strain to hear their conversation. And though he is _supposed_ to call her Queen of Albion, supposed to call her 'majesty' and kiss her hand when he greets her, she does not care.

Because to him she has always been simply 'Rose' and that was always more than enough, for both of them. And it is for that reason that she cannot turn away this man though part of her aches at his past betrayal; because he is still her brother who cared for her as a child and indulged her as a young woman. She cannot hate him for being a bad king any more than she can hate him for being the man forced upon the throne when their mother died.

Instead she smiles, though there are tears in her eyes, and she _wishes_ to hate him for the pain he has caused. For making her choose between the lives of the people and that of her beloved Elliot, for making her understand that he did exactly the same thing when he chose safety of Albion over the love of the people.

He does not move to aid her when the tears finally do come, when they streak down her cheeks and drip onto the once pristine collar of her gown. But then, she is a child no longer, just as he planned, just as he wished. She has become the woman he needed her to be, the woman Albion needed.

And though he cannot help her now, the expression on his face is familiar enough that she cannot help but smile through her tears, one small gloved hand coming to touch him gently on the cheek.

"I take that which has burdened you for so long, Logan. So you may live now as you were meant to."

Even now she cannot help but reassure him, to somehow ease his pain in a way he had once done for her a child. And there is a flicker of _something_ in his dark eyes as he watches her face, listens to her speech, but again he remains silent. That too is ok, because she needs him now for his strength of will and not his words; she needs him to help her understand.

She offers her hand to him then, though she does not know why, nor if he will even accept.

And when his hand closes around her own, she is startled to find his hands so very warm despite the chill of the room and through her gloves the heat drives the icy pain of loneliness from her bones.

_Warmth_.

It is a sensation she had almost forgotten amidst the mantel of Queen, but it is hers once more, offered to her by the unlikeliest of people.

Or perhaps it is the _most_ likely.

For as she turns to look him in the eye, she sees all he has done for the good of the kingdom, all the horror and pain that the people have suffered. And she sees how much it cost the man who was king, the man who still is her older brother.

Was this why he took her hand?

She wants to ask him, to shake the answer out of him if he will not answer. But here in the courtroom there is an audience, and she is in need of none. And so she can only quietly marvel at how small a gesture can so completely change a role.

Marvel at the man who took her hand and gave to her means to become the Queen of Albion.


	2. 02  Shadows

**AN:** So here's the second chapter - thank you to all those who reviewed/alerted/fav'd this fic :)

As always, I don't own anything you recognize!

~Voi

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The castle had always been theirs; the home where their mother had birthed them, where they had been tutored in the ways of the world, and where, when their mother passed away, Logan ruled the kingdom.

But as the fallen king walked the dimly lit halls of the portrait gallery, he was struck by how very removed he felt from all that surrounded him.

_Had it truly been such a long time since he had just looked around?_

Pausing in his walk, Logan found himself facing a painting of his mother, beloved queen and hero of Albion. Strange, but he had never noticed it before despite the numerous trips he had taken down these halls. Perhaps these several years truly had made him oblivious to little else but Albion's failing health.

Taking the time now to examine the painting, he studied the pale oval face, the full lips that turned upwards in a kind but reserved smile. Her long hair, the dark brown she had passed to both her children, was coiled atop her head, resplendent within its woven pearl and gold net. Passing an idle eye over the sweeping flow of her robes, the ceremonial blue and gold of Albion's royalty, Logan took one last glance his mother's composed figure before moving to turn away once more, only to stop short.

Frowning, the ex-King, paused and looked back to the painting which awaited his careful observation. And as he did so, he was struck by the fact that the painter had painted his mother's eyes the wrong color. Queen Sparrow had been a beauty for her pale eyes, blue as the Albion sky in winter, but the longer Logan stared up at the painting, the more he was convinced that the eyes on _this_ particular woman were light brown, not blue despite the dim lights.

Brown eyes, brown hair…and there, next to the left eye, a small birthmark, familiar that was true, but not traits his mother possessed, rather, the woman looked more like...

_It was Rose._

The realization slammed into him with all the subtlety of a cannon shot, and he felt rather than heard his grunt of surprise as he recognized the truth of the realization. The painting was of his sister, but in it she appeared older than he remembered, more weather by events surely.

_Were there really those shadows upon her face that aged her so?_

In his mind his sister was five years old, dragging yet another abandoned animal through the palace in search of food, and that too he knew was an image long since made false. But was this image on the wall the true reality?

Something twisted in his chest; gnawing at him the longer he looked at his sister's image. Responsibility and guilt for what he had done lay upon his shoulders like a cloak, resplendent in the realization of how much he had cost both himself and his younger sister.

_But it had had to be done, because Albion needed it. _

He would not apologize for placing the better sovereign on the throne, but neither was he prepared to watch his sister waste away.

_Unless it was too late already._

The thought drove him from the gallery, and down to the small office where Rose had taken to working in the late evenings. And though he arrived earlier than he did on most nights Logan found her sleeping atop her work, head pillowed upon arms.

Shadows danced upon her face as the candlelight flickered in the candelabra, once more reminding him of how easily he had confused the image of their mother with that of her own. But as he looked closer it became so very clear that some of the shadows were indeed those of exhaustion, dark rings beneath her eyes a testament to her tremendous workload.

It was a look he had worn during the years when he had struggled with what was right and what was the way to save Albion.

Watching her now, in the peace of the evening, he was reminded by how often he had fallen asleep in this very room, waking the following morning to find someone had placed a blanket around his shoulders, a very _pink _blanket with little sparrows embroidered onto the hem.

It had been the best Rose had been able to offer as a child, what with her being so much smaller than he was.

Height was, perhaps, a perk of being the eldest, Logan mused, as he gently took his now queen-sister into his arms, slowly straightening. She was much heavier than he remembered, but that too was the product of memories long since made defunct by time. Still, he had no problem carrying her across the room to where the sleeping chaise waited for them, depositing upon its plush surface with little hardship.

"Logan?"

Mumbling softly as a blanket settled around her, Rose stirred enough from slumber to open her eyes. Confused though she was, the light of her smile seemed to, at least momentarily, melt the shadows from her face and drive the darkness from his heart.

"Logan? Are you going to bed?"

Voice half slurred with exhaustion, the young queen sought a moment of clarity amidst the seductive peace sleep offered her. Reaching out for her brother, she stilled only when his hand found the top of her head, smoothing the curling mass of hair behind her ear.

"Go back to sleep Rose."

He spoke softly, coaxing her to close her eyes.

"But are you-? "

"Soon, I promise."

Years of experience allowed his lie to ring true, and despite the bitterness that threatened to undo the words, Logan took comfort in the peace his sister found in them. Sitting by her side until her soft snores proved her to be deeply asleep; Logan savored the stillness of the evening before turning to leave.

It was only when he felt the tug on the edge of his cloak that he realized Rose had fallen asleep with her hand wrapped right around the smooth fabric.

_To keep him close._

It seemed his sister knew him even better than he had realized, and Logan felt a smile tug on the corners of his mouth. He could not remember the last time he had smiled, but it was as foreign a feeling as he had experienced.

And though he finally managed to free himself from his sister's considerable grip, it was a long time before the effects of that small token of affection wore off, and by then he had already begun to lose himself in the complexities of kingdom policies. Sitting quietly at Roses' desk, hours passed by in quick succession before Logan rose once more, and only when he had finished organizing the papers his sister would need for the following day, writing copious notes when needed, did he take up the large chair beside his sister and fall asleep as well.

Logan woke up the following morning to find himself covered by a particular pink blanket. And though Rose spoke not a word to him about it, the fallen king wondered if perhaps Rose wasn't trying to drive the shadows from the hearts of them both.

**Theme 02: Shadows**


	3. 03 Sunset

**AN:** Alright! So it looks like this fic will be updated once a week, which is a nice sort of schedule for me, so just wanted to let you all know. Also, thanks for the amazing amounts of support for this fic, the number of reviews, alerts and favorites is really great to see.

As always, feel free to comment, criticize or not - and I do not own anything you recognize ;)

Enjoy!

~Voi

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**Theme 03: Sunset**

It had been a mistake; the entire evening had been one disaster. As she watched the last of the courtiers leave by way of carriage, Rose felt chest squeeze tight enough to hurt, to make breathing hard.

She hadn't cried since the coronation, when she had decided to spare Logan's life, and she hadn't shed tears of extreme sorrow since her mother had passed away. And yet, for all the lack of crying she had done recently the Queen of Albion couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted to do it now, her eyes burning as she struggled to hold the emotion back.

Fingers tightening reflexively on the banister of her bedroom balcony, Rose breathed deeply, head bowed as the wind pulled at the braid of her hair, loosening it until it furled out behind her in a great shimmering banner.

Formal court attire long since forgotten, her thin silk robe was all the covered the delicate lace and ruffle confection of her sleeping clothes. The wind cut through the meager fabric, but still she did not move, too lost in thought to mind the icy bite of winter.

She didn't know how long she stood there, minutes, hours, all semblance of time seemed to disappear save for the sun which sunk ever slowly into the horizon.

"Rose?"

He appeared at her side, settling his heavier cloak around her shoulders as he gently pulled her away from the balcony's edge. It was only when he had her in her room; French doors closed to keep out the cold, that she even realized tears had filled her eyes.

Large hands, warm through the gloves on his hands cupped her face, tilting it upwards. Blurry through it was, Rose could tell brothers' expression was serious.

And though she tried not to, she trembled at the emotions that washed over her. Scrubbing at her eyes, fiercely, she was stopped by patient hands and the soft white cotton he used to blot the wayward tears that still threatened to fall from the corners.

She could hear him muttering softly as he patently wiped the corners of her eyes, the sides of her cheeks.

"Logan?"

Vision clearing, she could see the tight set of his jaw, the anger that made his brow furrow. But for all of his temper, his ministrations were gentle. Rose smiled tremulously when he stepped back to look at her clearly, dark eyes assessing the dark circles under her eyes, the tearstained skin of her cheeks.

"Are you upset with me too?"

Childish though the question was, she felt compelled to ask. Part of her shivered in anticipation of his answer, but she wanted to know, if just to hear the answer from someone she cared about, someone she trusted.

"Why would I be upset with you, Rose?"

Looking at her downtrodden expression, Logan sighed passing his hand over his eyes.

"I told you this dinner would be a bad idea, but I understood why you had to do it. Still, I can't say I didn't warn you."

"So you agree with them?" Words barely above a whisper, Rose struggled to keep the pain from her voice, but couldn't keep her eyes from fixing to the ground in dejected embarrassment.

"No. I don't."

Her older brother sighed again, stepping close enough to pull her into the protective strength of his arms. Funny that even though he was no Hero, Logan still inspired the deepest sense of peace when he held his sister so very close.

"No?"

"Not one of them was right, Rose."

"But they-"

Logan growled low, fiercely, "You do _not_ need a husband to be the type of queen Albion needs. You aren't any less of a person, a ruler, just because you sit on the throne by yourself."

"But what about an heir?" Rose wanted to know, "What if we die in this upcoming war and Albion is left without a leader?"

"If you worry about dying then clearly you haven't put enough in place to guard Albion yet." Ever the strategist, Logan frowned, "Besides, even if there _were_ a way for you to find a suitable match, getting pregnant now would leave you vulnerable when the war comes."

Rose was silent, unable to contradict her brother's sound logic. But there remained one last lingering question.

"Logan, if I die…"

"I won't be alive when you do." His response was terse his dark eyes glittering like onyx, "If you end up dying, it will be because _I_ have failed to protect you. And if that is the case, then it would be because I died defending you."

Looking down at her little face, his fierce expression gentled ever so slightly.

"Do not think yourself so incapable of ruling alone, sister. You have done far better than I had in such a short time, and you are our mothers' daughter."

He released her then, and moved to go, his worry assuaged, his sister reassured. But just before he could leave, Rose called to him one last time.

"Logan."

He turned towards her in the doorway, framed by the warm candlelight. Expression once more set in the familiar sternness, guarded against the unexpected, he looked every bit the military commander her was.

But for all of his strength, he was not a Hero, and Rose would speak to him about his promise.

"In a perfect world, brother, I would see you live until your sunset years, surrounded by your children and those of us who know you best. I cannot promise to let you die before me, Logan, if I must, I will stop you."

"You would have to bring Mother back, if you even wanted to stand a chance," Logan's voice broke no argument, "And even then, I am sure she would side with me, little sister. It is the prerogative of an older brother to look after his little sister."

"And is it not the prerogative of a Queen to look after her subjects?" Rose wanted to know, tilting her chin upwards in challenge.

"Perhaps." Logan seemed to consider her for a minute before giving her one of his rare half-smiles, "But then, it is good I am the Queen's older brother, is it not?"

And though he left before she could formulate a proper response, it was a long time before Rose could turn away from the door, her heart too confused to properly be happy.


	4. 04 Ancient

**AN:** Ok, so I couldn't stay away for a week :P hahaha, I blame all of you lovely people for your wonderful comments and support - thank you so much :)

Enjoy this next installment - and as always, I own nothing you recognize!

~Voi

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**Theme 04: Ancient**

There was a melody that seemed to haunt her memories of her childhood, Rose had heard the song all her life and never known of what her memory spoke of. But when she had found the artifact, the music box that belonged to her mother, it seemed as if she had found her answer.

But the more she had thought about it, the more the young woman became convinced that Sparrow had never even mentioned such an object, and yet the song remained the melody of her childhood, the flavor of her past.

"Do you ever remember mother talking about the music box?"

Rose asked one night, when she and Logan were working on laws for the treatment of child laborers. The thought had been on her mind for months now, eating away at her until at last it seemed to entirely distracting.

"A music box?" Logan looked up from where he had been working, his expression thoughtful, "No, not at all. I can't even say I know what it is you're talking about Rose; mother never mentioned anything about her past, and Walter never mentioned any box in any of his stories about her."

"Are you certain?" Rose frowned, getting up from her desk as she hummed to tune to herself, "I could have sworn the song was familiar to me. Let me fetch it and maybe the tune will remind you."

She appeared back in the small study not a moment later, the silver wrought box an intricate pattern of elegant swirling designs, and on its side a delicate metal handle.

Beautiful though it was, the fallen King did not recognize the shape or design of it, and so, though he followed her with his eyes, he did not rise to be beside his sister.

Pausing in her movements, the Queen stood beside the cheerily burning hearth to pull at the handle, so as to produce the tune. But as she did so, the handle wedged tight, preventing it from turning.

"Logan?"

Rose frowned as she tried to turn the old handle once more and found it unable to move even the smallest amount, "Could you help me for a moment?"

Sighing, the dark haired man rose from the desk to join her by the fireside, his expression slightly exasperated but not unkind. Holding out his hands, he inclined his head towards her in mock sincerity.

"What is it that you wish of me, your Majesty?"

Smiling up at him, Rose sniffed primly and pressed the metal case into his hands, "I command you to open this box for me, oh squire of my heart."

"Squire, is it?" Logan raised an eyebrow, "I'm not even sure I finished my training to be a Page, not that mother would have let me be a knight."

Laughing, Rose took one side of the loveseat by the fire and patted the space next to her, "Come then brother, and be the Knight mother prevented you from being."

But no sooner had he sat down, the handle of the music box in his hand, when the lid sprang open. Looking at each other in startled surprise, Rose could only shrug before motioning towards it, "Can you tell what made it stuck?"

Peering down into the dark mechanics of the box, the fallen king could see nothing, and so kneeling down in front of the fire, he took a second look. But when his shoulders suddenly stiffened in surprise Rose appeared at his side once more, her face creased with concern.

"Logan, what is it?"

Rose could see nothing but the profile of her brother's face, and the expression there was no longer of the good humor that had so warmed their hearts moments earlier. Instead, dark eyes peered into the box with seemingly unblinking focus, sharpening until at last the man reached one hand into the ornate silver artifact.

_What had he found there? _

The answer came in the form of a simple silver and ruby ring. Neither particularly large, nor ornate, there was a resonance between ring and holder, enough to fill the room with soft humming.

As her brother tilt it upon its axis, the inside of the ring sparkled with the engraving that had withstood the test of time.

_For my Scarlet Robe, hero and wife. _

Was it an ancient wedding ring? A token of affection for a woman already wed? Rose could not quite be sure who this 'Scarlet Robe' was, but just as the music box had resonated with Rose so too did the ring _feel_ familiar.

"Rose?"

Logan's expression was intense, though she wasn't sure why. Still she did as he asked; presenting her right hand to him as he requested, watching him with surprised silence when he slid the ring onto her third finger, fitting her perfectly.

"Do you know who she is?" Rose wanted to know, "Scarlet Robe…does the name mean anything to you?"

Neither child could claim to have been overtly intellectual, but Logan had long since harbored a fascination with genealogy and lineage. Dark eyes glittering in the firelight, the man was silent for a long moment, before he stood slowly, languidly, and went to retrieve a large tome for a far wall of the study.

"I thought as much," Logan sat beside her, turning the book so as to allow them both enough space to read the text, "She's a member of our line, one of the first heroes too.

"Have we ever had any male heroes?" Rose turned over the next page as she read on.

"Mother spoke of one or two when we were children," Logan replied readily, "But it seems to run in the maternal side, thus you are the Hero."

"You could have been a Hero too, Logan." Rose couldn't help but answer, convinced in much the same way she had been as a child that he brother was so very much what heroes were made of.

"Me?" There was an amused tremor in the fallen king's voice, "No…not really. Leading was never a skill that came to me easily. Ruling a kingdom…"

A small feminine hand touched just under his eye where the deep shadows had lightened with sleep, "You never wanted it, the crown, did you?"

"I can't say I found it a burden until after Aurora," Logan confessed softly, eyes locked on the roaring fireside, "After that...it was different."

There were still secrets between the two siblings, silent hurts that would be kept quiet though they sat close. But as Rose turned to watch the fire beside her brother she hoped that someday these walls would change so that they could speak freely.

Between the chasm of their two minds lay a wealth of memories, and the bridge between them would not be built in a single year, not with so much left to be said.

Queen and King.

Sister and Brother.

Hero and common solider.

Their relationship had many facets, adding complication to an already complex dance, but as Rose turned the handle of the music box, she smiled at the familiarity of the song as the softly haunting tune filled the study.

Different they might be, but at the core, were they not also the same? The same blood, the same heart, the same ancient line, they were two shoots of a single branch.

In the dark of the room, the ring sparkled from its place on her finger.


	5. 05 Window

**AN:** So I've decided to post two chapters today since I may be pretty busy this upcoming week and wanted to get something out to you guys. You have been so SO supportive, and I wanted to thank all of you for taking the time to read :)

As always, I own nothing you recognize and hope you enjoy this next chapter!

~Voi

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**Theme 05: Window**

Spring had come to Albion and with it loomed the threat of **IT** though most tried to forget. All of Albion had flourished under the gentle but firm hand of their new queen, homes rebuilt, children educated and not forced into labor, fortresses built.

And as was typical of spring, there came the seasonal rains, beautifully torrents that brought the gardens to life and fed the streams around the kingdom. It was days such as these that were the Queen's favorite, and more than once had she been found outdoors, rich clothing soaked through as she enjoyed the weather.

_Such a light hearted ruler,_ the people would smile and say, _pure and gentle_.

Logan knew better, and his heart tightened in his chest every time he found her outside in such miserable conditions. She had taken to walking the gardens when it rained, by herself and never in the company of anyone else save her trusted dog.

With a bitterness he knew he shouldn't have felt, Logan watched as his little sister paused before a large statue, growing ever more still.

Pain was her constant companion on days like this, for it was only when the rain fell that she could disguise her tears as raindrops, and it was always this statue that made her weep.

Logan closed his eyes at the image she made, head bowed before the image of her childhood friend. He had known, as older brothers often do, that the young man who had shadowed his sister's steps had been in love with her. Elliot, Logan recalled his name, had been her favorite topic to speak of after their mother had died and he had left her to attend the business of the kingdom. The young man had been the light of her childhood, and he had callously forced her to choose between him and those common rebels who had fought against him.

He had never actually thought she would choose what she had, despite Elliot's insistence that he be the one to die.

It had been the one selfish choice he had ever seen her make, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized how much it had cost her. Rose was not a perfect human being, despite her otherwise exemplary traits, and it seemed guilt clung to her still.

The soft whisper of the French doors on the smooth tile of the foyer drew his attention to where Rose emerged from the world outside, her hair a mass of wet that already sought to curl in the warm temperature of the castle's interior.

Expression carefully neutral, Logan drew before her with scarcely a sound, tugging at the cords of her long cloak, experience making his movements smooth despite the speed.

Sighing softly, Rose turned to look at him, her large dark eyes liquid in the bright light, "You don't have to wait for me every time I go outside Logan."

Her lips, tinged blue from the cold, turned upwards in the smallest of smiles, "I won't love you any less if you actually do something else. I'm not a child anymore."

"No, I know that." Logan's voice was distant as he finished loosening the last silken cord and tugged the swirling cape into his arms.

Ignoring the knowing look in his sister's eyes, he paused to put her cloak away before offering her an arm. A small hand came to rest on his, and the two walked through the castle in silence.

Despite their physical closeness the silence between them seemed to lengthen the space until at last neither could stand it any longer.

"Logan-"

"Whatever did happen to him, Rose?" Logan asked before she could finish her sentence, his hand still gently coming to twine with her own.

"To Elliot?" Her expression was somber as she looked up at him, "You allowed him to live after my decision, but he fled from the castle that night, as did I."

She looked ready to pull away again, her expression pained, too close to breaking. Yet Logan refused to release her, tugging her close enough to feel the silky curl of her hair as it hung wet around her shoulders.

"And what happened after that, Rose?"

One gloved hand brushed a wayward curl behind her ear.

_Why do you still cry over him if you kept him safe?_

Logan had heard once that the eyes were the window to one's deepest being, the truth of who they were and what they felt. Looking into his sister's amber eyes he was struck by the sudden emptiness he found there, the gaping chasm of _nothing_ that looked him in the face.

"Rose?"

Her lip trembled and her face twisted into an expression akin to grief as she looked away, "He found someone else he loved, and this time I didn't dare interfere with his life."

He may not have said anything, but the way his hand tightened forced her to look at him, her own pain momentarily mirrored in the dark eyes of her elder.

"I let him marry another woman."

The words were scarcely more than a shattered whisper, a pained gasp. "He swore he loved me still, but I couldn't…couldn't be the girl he had once loved."

Her words rushed on now that she had spoken them, "We all make sacrifices, Logan. I should have saved those people in the throne room, that day when you forced me to choose, but I was too much of a coward. I couldn't let myself be that girl when I saw Elliot the second time."

"I understand," Logan said softly as he turned her in his arms, "But making that sacrifice made you stronger, Rose."

"It doesn't make it hurt any less," came the broken reply, "I miss him terribly sometimes. And it isn't right, because it was _my_ choice that sent him away."

Silently she pushed the damp, curling, hair from her eyes, but didn't raise her eyes to meet his own.

"We often do things we dislike for the great good, Rose." Logan seemed to sigh, "Albion is what drives us, sister, not our own hearts."

Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he waited until her eyes rose to give him the proper attention. "_You_ are the Queen, Rose, do not just mope around. If you want to see him, then _do_ it."

Something passed across her brother's face then, a flicker of anger of resentment that the young woman couldn't quite understand.

Logan sighed as his little sister buried her face against his chest, "Don't tell me you'll willingly face balverines but not this one boy, Rose. That doesn't make sense with what you told me earlier, with what I _know_."

"Is it so strange to think that I am human?" Rose wanted to know, her smile self-depreciating as she leaned against him, "Can I not even be honest with you, brother? Must I always be a Queen?"

"You are _never_ just a queen when you are with me, little one."

That strange tone had come over his voice again, and Rose caught only a fleeting glance of his face as he released her and turned away.

"Logan?"

He didn't turn, made no move to even acknowledge that he had heard her. Instead he glided through the halls, away from her, his dark cloak billowing.

_"Logan."_

Voice pitched in exasperation, Rose ran after him when he ignored her second summons. Down the hall and through the drawing room, it was at the stairs that she caught up to him.

And by the time it took for her to stop him, she realized that she had come to her decision about Elliot a long time ago. Denial had blinded her from the facts for so very long, but it seemed her brother had known her better than even she did.

"You silly man,"

Rose smiled as she pressed her face to his back. "You knew I just needed someone to talk to, didn't you?"

And though she couldn't see her face, a gloved hand came to settle over her own, and she didn't need words to understand how he felt.


	6. 06 Angel

**AN:** Ok, so this is part two of my lovely double post. Of all the chapters I've written thus far, I have to admit to loving this one the best, if just because I feel that I was able to be dramatic and have fun with one really big WHAT IF moment in the final part of the game. As such, I will warn you, THERE ARE SPOILERS for the end of the game. I figure most of the readers are here with that knowledge, but I wanted to just make sure :)

I hope you enjoy reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

~Voi

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**Theme 06: Angel**

"LOGAN!"

There was chaos and noise everywhere, but only a single voice could be heard above it all, screaming out in terror, shattering all else despite the general cacophony as the young Queen of Albion fell to her knees in the dust.

Blood welled upon her lips and her body had been sliced deeply in the fight with **It**, but somehow she seemed to ignore them all, her attention solely on the man who lay so terribly still before her.

Walter had died a moment earlier in her arms, but _this _man…she hadn't realized how violently **IT** would be in its final throes of death, hadn't realized it would try to strike her once more as she bid Walker goodbye.

But her brother had…

"Logan, oh please, Logan…"

Throat choked with too many emotions, Rose could do little more that gasp as her trembling hands pulled her motionless brother to her chest. Dark hair matted with sweat and blood clung to his scalp, and though he had never had a particularly healthy palor he was unsettlingly pale now.

The armor he wore was still in place, but the blood ran from beneath, slicking her hands and the front of her own suit.

Struggling to maintain what calm she could, Rose struggled to see through her tears, hands pressing searchingly through armor and cloth to feel the side of his neck, desperately seeking a pulse.

Unable to find what she sought, the young queen of Albion fumbled for her pouch to find something, _anything_ to stop the terrible rush of scarlet that was quickly draining away, staining her hands and the dirt around them.

Nothing.

There was not a single piece of fruit, nor the smallest drop of potion left for him in her bag. And the moment she realized it, Rose felt the world tilt suddenly, violently on its axis, pointing her towards a future that she was not willing to accept.

"Logan!" Tears ran down her cheeks in great rivulets, "Please, brother, open your eyes!"

But just as when she had first found him he remained silent, unmoving, and so very nearly dead that as her heart struggled to accept it, her mind reeled at the implication.

"Please don't leave me!" she begged, bending over his prone body as her desperation filled her, "You cannot be dead. Not after everything I did to save Albion, to save _you_!"

And as her mouth pressed to his own, forcing them open in an attempt to push air into his lungs, the chill of his lips confirmed the uncontrovertibly truth.

That was the world stopped; quite literally, bringing with it the familiar fog that could only herald the arrival of one person. Looking up, Rose's dark eyes pierced dimness, her voice rough with emotion as she held her brother close to her chest.

"Theresa."

Emerging from the dark, the tall woman nodded slowly, her voice that slow droning that bellied her wisdom more than any age she possessed.

"You have stopped the Darkness." There was the almost imperceptible hint of a smile in her voice, "The Hero Queen had fulfilled her destiny. You have _saved_ Albion, and the people love you still."

But for all of the praise, Rose could scarcely think past the man who lay in her arms.

"What is to happen with Logan?"

"Your older brother has played the role given to him, though even I did not expect him to win such heart from _you_ Hero."

"He is the only sibling I have!" Rose spoke fiercely, "He never had to _win_ my heart when it was never separated from his own. That is the way it is with those you love."

"Indeed?" Theresa seemed to consider the young woman's words, "Then you would hold him above all of Albion?"

"I have _saved_ Albion," the queen replied, "It is not a matter of holding one above the other. But now that the kingdom is safe, I will not let him die."

"That it may be…" the words were a soft whisper, "But for all your wishing Logan already lies dead in your tender hold."

"No!" Rose shook her head fervently, "He cannot be, _you_ are here are you not?"

When Theresa remained silent, the young Queen rose to her feet, though she dared not leave her brother's body unguarded.

"He _cannot_ die!" Rose spoke fiercely, angrily at the woman, "You cannot put me on the throne if just to use him as a shield to defend me, to be discarded when it has taken too many blows."

"So you wish a boon? Theresa asked, "A prize for your victory? Nothing is without a price, and even I do not have the power of granting another life from death."

"You can do _nothing_?" the Hero of Albion challenged though her heart was breaking by degrees, "Or is it that you _will _not?"

At the other woman's silence, the anger that had so desperately burned grew to further desperation, "_Please_ Theresa, I beg of you, _save him._"

Feeling as if her heart might fail her, Rose clutched her hand upon her breast, her eyes fringed with tears she had yet to shed. And though she had not intended so, the ring on her finger caught the eye of the ever observant seer.

"Where did you get that ring?"

The question was immediate, Theresa's voice so strange in its emotional depth that it startled even Rose.

"The ring?"

Looking down blindly, it was several moments before the deep red and gold came into focus, the glimmer of fire along its jeweled surface glowing in the muted light of this alternate world. But as she looked upon it Rose saw not only its beauty but the memory of that evening, the way her brother had found it, the look on his face as he had slid it onto her finger.

"Do you want it?" turning steely eyes up to the seer Rose pulled the ring from her finger, "Because there's only one way I'll part with it."

"You do not realize how important that ring is, or you would not give it away for so petty a reason." Theresa mocked the young woman where she stood, "You would throw away all you have accomplished all you _could_ accomplish."

Unmoved, Rose gazed back at the old woman; " Will you take it in exchange for Logan's life? Tell me plainly, I wish to know."

"Not alone." For a moment, the hood could not hide the shinning depths of Theresa's eyes.

"What more do you desire?" Rose demanded, "This ring is important to you, I can see it there on your face. Why do you seek to cost me more?"

"_Why_ I ask for things are not important for you to know, little bird," Theresa tutted as she slowly moved forward, "I merely wish to know how much you are willing to sacrifice for him."

"For Logan I would pay any price," Rose gestured to herself, "You can take whatever _part_ of me you wish, but I want him returned to me."

And though Theresa seemed to accept the Hero's terms, it was with almost a sad sigh that she granted the young queen's request.

"It will be, as you say."

Theresa's voice echoed around her as the world exploded in a haze of white light and lancing pain, "I hope you do not come to regret this Hero, Queen of Albion."

And though she was quickly losing consciousness, Rose smiled, her eyes closing slowly, allowing her one last glance of Logan's dark eyes as he woke.

"Never."


	7. 07 Roses

**AN: **I love you all for your many reviews for the last chapter :) I'll be sure to reveal the price of Logan's resurrection, but it'll be gradual for sure. As such, I hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks again for the continued feedback.

I own nothing you recognize!

~Voi

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**Theme 07: Roses**

Two months had passed since the darkness had been beaten back and the kingdom of Albion had seemed to begin anew, flourishing from fertile ground as spring produced its final profusion of blossoms and sweet scented fruits. Days grew longer as if to hasten summer by its lingering sunlight, and everywhere there was a sense of relief, of peace.

It was very much the same at the castle, and on one evening in particular the sweetness of the air found the Queen outside in her garden; though this time she was not alone.

"Ack! Help, I am being attacked!" Laughter filtered through the heavy boughs of pear trees and carefully manicured rows of flowers. "Logan, save me!"

Rounding a beautiful flowering rose bush, the Queen of Albion grinned as she ran, trying to escape the 'evil' clutches of her dog, breathless as she sprinted across the lawn, the black and white hound streaking behind her, his tongue wagging. Darting between shrubs and using her not inconsiderable speed to escape, the lady Hero spend many long minutes dancing around her faithful companion before gracefully surrendering.

"Oh no, you've caught me!"

Laughing in delight, the young queen called her dog to her side as she settled down on her knees, briskly rubbing behind the ears and the side of the neck in undiluted praise.

"What a good boy, yes you are!"

Pulling the small squeaky ball from her dress pocket, she sent her hound chasing after it, taking several long breaths as if to stave off some great fatigue.

"Rose."

The voice summoned her attention, and she accepted the hand of the man who had materialized next to her.

"Good evening, Logan."

Despite his best attempts at sounding upset, her brother sounded more concerned than not. Dressed in a plain tunic and pants, Logan looked more like the young man he was, rather than aged monarch he felt like.

Looking down at the face of his sister, pale in the moonlight, Logan was reminded of the nagging worry that seemed to have plagued him ever since **IT** had been defeated. He had never actually found out what had happened on that day when Albion was attacked, but he could tell something had come over his sister.

It was leaving her increasingly exhausted, and though he struggled not to show it, Logan couldn't shake the fact that this was only the beginning of something far worse.

At his side, Rose smiled sunnily, as she welcomed the strong arm that he offered, gently leaning upon it as she caught her breath. Flush from the exertion, her face seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the castle lamps and the moonlight above.

"You should be more careful with yourself." Logan chastised as he tucked one sweat streaked curl behind her ear, dark eyes searching for some sign of stress.

Touched by the picture her brother made, Rose pat his arm gently as she sought to ease his troubled mind. "It was only a short run, Logan; I will not collapse after such a minor exercise."

And yet no sooner had she spoken, when her knees gave out, her eyes going wide as her hands tightened on his arm.

He caught her before her knees hit the dirt path beneath them, and though he said nothing, Rose dared not make a dismissive remark. It had happened twice already in the past week, and each time seemed closer than the last.

"What happened to you, Rose?" Logan looked down at her with darkly luminescent eyes, "Did I fail you?"

"No."

Rose responded immediately, small hand coming to touch the pocket that lay over his heart, the heart she felt beating steadily beneath her palm. "You didn't fail, I'm here aren't I?"

"You're not telling me everything, Rose."

There was a flicker of _something_ in his eyes as he looked at her. It was a look that seemed at once both pained and yet affectionate and though Rose was not sure the reason, she knew such emotions were apparent on her own face. Moving her hand from his chest to his gloved hands, the lady Hero brushed against the leather that seemed always upon the long tapered fingers.

"What happened to _you_ those many years ago in Aurora, Logan?" Palm to palm, Rose examined how much smaller her hand was in his own, how very diminutive she was beside him. Part of her expected him to refuse her, to pull away in much the same manner he had in years past. But as she continued to examine the delicate lines of his hands, his voice thrummed softly in her ear.

"Do you really want to know, Rose?"

Looking up, Rose caught the unease in his expression, the startling shame in the dark pupils.

"If you will allow me, I would wish to share your burden." Tracing the outline of his hand, she smiled "Please, Logan."

He hesitated for a moment longer before beginning.

"The regiment of soldiers I took with me to Aurora was slaughtered." His voice was hard as he first recalled the memory, "I had never seen anything kill a man so fast. It became immediately clear to me that we weren't going to survive."

Having experienced the games the Crawler had liked to play, Rose pressed her head to his chest, knowing what was to come next.

"It saved me for last, so I watched as one by one my men killed one another or took their own lives." Logan's hand slowly stroked through her riot of curls, "I had assumed **IT** showed them terrible monsters or sent those shadowy 'children' to kill them. I had been _prepared_ for that."

Breaking off suddenly, Logan looked down at his younger sister, his expression pained, "Do you truly wish to know? It is not a pleasant thing, Rose."

The gentle smile she gave him was understanding but bellied her desire to know what had happened.

"The darkness taunted me with images…of mother…father…of you." His eyes were distant, unfocused as he recalled the past, "I would see the birthday mother gave you that pony, and then watch as the both of you were murdered. I saw father killed by pirates. I watched as you begged me to save the family, but when I grabbed your hand..."

Lifting one of his hands to his face, Logan seemed to consider it for a moment, "I never did understand why my hands that never healed right. Even Kalin didn't know."

"May I see them?

Small hands coming to tug on the edge of one glove, Rose paused, waiting for him to respond, "Logan?"

She receive no words, merely a hesitant nod, a gesture so completely at odds with her usually confident brother that she gave it considerable pause. And yet, her curiosity demanded to be assuaged, to be acted upon.

Gently peeling the glove back, Rose watched the hesitation in her brother's eyes grow to something akin to fear. Never before had Logan appeared so vulnerable, and yet the moment the glove came completely off there seemed a sudden acceptance of his fate, relief.

It was only when she had the first glove off, the moonlight castings it's silvery light into the grooves of his hands, that she was able to see the damage.

Scars, like delicate spider webs crisscrossed the width of his hand. Some deep and others shallow, Rose touched one fingertip to a mark on his palm, startling suddenly when he flinched.

"Does it hurt?"

Shaking his head, Logan gently pulled the hand out of her grasp to examine his hand anew. The image of him thus was to be a picture forever burned into her mind; for it occurred to her then how very typical that Logan keep his scars hidden from view, scars he had borne for Albion's sake.

Truly he had suffered in silence and loneliness long enough.

Reaching out to touch both hands, she pulled them down until she could peer at them once more.

The scars ensured those large hands would never be considered beautiful by any stretch of the imagination, but as she resumed her slow tracing of one scar and then another, there was a comfort she found in their rough surface.

Watching his sister examine his hands, Logan felt the familiar insecurities rise in his chest, the same uncomfortable panic that was borne from a vanity that even great disfigurement had been unable to entirely crush. Not that he had ever believed himself particularly good looking one way or another, but his hands had always served as a source of shame, of disgust.

Meaning to pull out of her tender clasp, the fallen King froze at the fleeting touch of _something_ against his too sensitive skin. Soft, silky, the second brush of soft velvet against his hand was as startling a revelation as the affectionate expression on his sister's face eased the tightness in his chest.

"What are those?" Logan's asked gruffly, unable to pull his hand away how that she had so completely captured him. In the dim light it was impossible to see what was in her other hand, and so he asked again, watching as the tenderness curved her lips into an attractive smile.

She had to stand on her tiptoes to whisper the answer in his ear. And as her soft husky voice responded his question, the warmth of her body eased the icy grip of uncertainty in his chest.

"Roses."

He would have smiled at the answer had he been any other man

_Roses_, he thought as he closed his eyes, _of course. _


	8. 08 Innocence

**AN:** Hahaha, I keep telling myself to only post one chapter a week but it just keeps coming :) Thanks for your continued support - and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

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**Theme 08: Innocence**

"There's someone here to see the Queen."

The footman addressed the man seated in the study with equal parts fear and respect. When the threat of **IT **had disappearedthe people of Albion had come to be a more forgiving people. At the same time, a few months could not undo the damage that had been wrought by years of desperation, of scavenging and watching loved ones die; especially when the one who had sat upon that throne of thorns remained in the castle despite the reigning of a new monarch.

Dark eyes flickered up for a moment before returning to the spread of documents on the table. "Does this someone have a name?" Sounding bored, the question terrified the young man dressed in Albion livery.

"Ben Finn, my lord."

The manservant shifted as those dark eyes snapped upwards a second time, lips twisting in displeasure. Straightening in his chair, the dark clad man waved the young man away, "Send him in then, I will go get the queen."

Nodding to do as he was told, the servant had only just reached the door when, on a hunch, he paused. And though there had been stories about how very dangerous the Queen's older brother was, the man who left through the double doors, towards the queen's chambers, seemed almost _concerned_ at the prospect of waking his sibling. Shaking his head, the footman called himself two kinds of fool before opening the door and exiting. It wouldn't suit to get into trouble. King he may be no longer, but that didn't mean Logan wasn't capable to defending his own. The footman had no wish to lose his head; he had a family to take care of.

"Rose?"

Logan had entered the room, intent on waking her if just to avoid having to meet her _guest_ himself. But the moment he had found her, pallid face beneath heavy blankets it quickly became apparent that he would be the one to deal with the wayward adventurer.

She had been growing worse, weaker, though her brilliant smile tried to mask the fatigue.

Sighing softly, Logan allowed himself a moment to linger by her side, to smooth the hair that streamed over blanket and pillow. Oblivious to his tender ministrations, the Queen merely sighed as she slept onwards. Had there not been more pressing assignments to attend to, Logan would have allowed himself to linger a moment longer. But as it was, there were papers to attend, and wayward adventurers come back from their traveling.

Closing the door behind him, the fallen King turned just in time to see Ben Finn enter the study.

Neither man offered the other any greeting, but Logan spoke the man's name in way of confirming the other's presence.

The rest of his words were conducted in his customary aloof fashion, "Rose had given me the impression that you were out adventuring once more."

"I was." Ever the cheerful man, the ex-soldier sat upon one of the chairs and looked around for the aforementioned woman, "Rose sleeping in or something?"

"The Queen is not feeling well." Growling, Logan's posture bespoke of rigid control, "I am just here to tell you that if you wish an audience with her it will have to be for another day."

"Well that's all well and good for you to say, but I'm not leaving until she tells me herself."

"I know you don't care for authority," Logan strove to reign in the flash of temper that had risen from Ben's careless words, "But I've already told you why Rose is unable to meet with you."

"And _I_ said that that was fine, but I'll wait here if you don't mind."

"Finn…" Logan's voice deepened, growling in warning.

"She's not that five year old girl you used to defend, Logan." Ben glared at him across the room, "Rose has headed a revolution, fought creatures made of nightmares, and saved this kingdom; don't look so surprised to know she's an _adult_ of all things."

"I'm well aware that my sister is no longer a child." The fallen king looked furious, "But I will not wake her just so you can corrupt her with bawdy stories and drag her along on one of your trips to the pleasure districts. Your presence here is unnecessary, so please leave immediately. "

There was a flash of amusement in the adventurer's eyes, "Me, corrupt Rose? Clearly she's been keeping stories from you."

Anger made the other's face sharp, and Ben grinned all the wider as Logan's hand came to clench around the handle of his saber.

"You do know, Logan that Rose is a regular down in Industrial, and there is more than one tattooist who got rich off the designs she's commissioned from them."

_Tattooist?_

Logan spoke not a word, but his frozen expression was enough to send the other man into fits of laughter. Lost in stunned surprise, it was as if the very idea of his sister had rendered the man mute.

"My goodness, you had no idea did you?"The blond man shook his head as he continued to amuse himself at the other's expense, "Poor sod, you look completely blindsided. Not that I can blame you – Rose really does look like the little innocent doesn't she."

"How many does she have?"

The words came slightly strangled, and lacked all usual composure.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you – you're going to have to speak up." Smirking, Ben put a hand to his ear, "Come on Logan, use that great big commanding 'King' voice and ask me the question again."

"How many tattoos does Rose have?" The words were growled loud enough to echo in the expansive room, the expression fierce enough to match.

"Goodness, you _are_ Mr. Cheerful today aren't you? Well since you asked _so_ nicely, I'll tell you; she has – "

"I thought I heard shouting," the door swung open suddenly as a new voice carried in the tension charged air, "What is going on?

Rose entered the war room in a long loose dress of some gauzy auroran fabric, the top layer so sheer that it revealed the muted mulberry color beneath. Rustling as she moved, the slope of the dress emphasized her curves in a way that made both men very much aware of their earlier conversation.

Logan was surprised to find swallowing a task requiring significant concentration.

Young their new Queen may be, but she was no child.

Eyes widening in surprise, the lady Hero paused steadying herself at the kingdom map, "Ben, what are you doing here?"

"Ah hello fair monarch," Ben made a sweeping bow was an unfamiliar greeting though his telltale wink when he straightened revealed him to be up to no good.

"Causing trouble again?" She asked, eyebrows arched in mock severity, "I should have known."

"Me?" Ben pointed to himself with his usual comedic flair, "What have _you_ been keeping from your brother? I was trying to tell him about our trips to Industrial and the poor man didn't believe me!"

Large eyes widened as already wan features went almost stark white, "Ben, you didn't!"

Steeling a glance at her still-frozen older brother, Rose felt like throttling the blond adventurer, "I'm going to kill you!"

Pinching the bridge of her nose as if to fight some oncoming headache, Rose sighed "Alright well, since I no doubt need to explain myself, I will have to meet with you later, Ben. Care to meet me tomorrow of lunch?"

"I think my schedule is open." The blond smiled cheerily, "Same place as usual?"

His insinuating tone seemed to make Logan all the more rigid, making Rose uncomfortably aware of how increasingly upset her brother was becoming.

"Yes, same place, Ben. Now get out of here before you get in me into bigger trouble."

No sooner had the doors closed behind the ex-soldier when Logan made himself heard.

"Tattoos?"

Logan couldn't contain the fury in his voice though he spoke no louder than usual. Instead it was the severity of his tone that he painted the truth of his feelings. "Father would never have accepted you into the family if you had gotten such things!"

"And what about you?" Rose spoke the words carefully, her expression carefully guarded.

"_I feel the same_." had he been a dragon, Rose was sure her brother would have breathed fire upon her in response. "That sort of behavior is unacceptable. I should have _known_, given the sort of people you consorted with but-"

"My choice to get those tattoos had nothing to do with any of the people I met!" The words grew steadily louder as if to mirror the anger that was quickly rising in the young woman, "It is no more their fault than it is yours. I have done no wrong, it is _my_ body!"

"You were the _princess _before you became the queen._" _Logan raged.

"I am an independent woman before I am either one of those titles!" Rose responded with temper.

"Your role as leader of the Rebellion did not take that title away," her brother continued stubbornly, "If anything the responsibility should have made you more mindful! What sort of example to you set to the people?"

"I find that statement coming for you terribly ironic," the woman bit back, "Who cares how I look? I am loved as the Queen because of how I rule, how I appear to the public is up to them. Besides, it should be clear to you than not many people know about these markings anyway."

"And to those who do seem so very _proud_ of you don't they?"

"You are the only one who has reacted negatively thus far!"

"That might be because I'm the only one with a conscience when it comes to such things!" Logan strode forward, "The only other people I can think of who have tattoos are common whor– "

He broke off suddenly, unable to finish his sentence. But implication was clear, as was the growing twist of guilt in his stomach.

"Common '_whore'_ you mean?" Rose had gone suddenly, frighteningly, silent. Reaching up to the top clasp of her gown, her fingers closed around the pin and pulled.

"Rose I didn't-"

Logan's strangled voice was silenced as the gauzy material parted, reveal the blue lines that ran along the top of her arms, curled along her collar bone and dipped lower to the curve of her breasts. Thin though they were, their intricate weave created the image of a crown, the mark of royalty.

"There they are," Rose pulled the dress a little lower, her expression a mask of hurt as she tugged it lower still, until she was nearly indecent, "So what do you think? Do I look like one them? One of those painted women on the corners? One of those _whores_?"

Her voice broke a sob escaping as she uttered the last word.

"Rose…"

"No!" Shaking with anger and bitterness, Rose pulled her gown back up, closing the clasp around her neck, tears already streaking down her cheeks "Don't bother, it's a little late for that. "

And without another word she fled the room, leaving Logan to stare after her, too stunned by what he had said to do more that whisper a soft, "I'm sorry."


	9. 09 Reflection

**AN:** A short one today - maybe a longer one tomorrow :) Enjoy and thank you all SO MUCH for your support! As always, critique and suggestions are welcome!

~Voi

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**Theme 09: Reflection**

It had been three days since their argument, three days since Logan had heard her voice or seen her face. Walking through the castle Logan had hoped to find her, to apologize for the words he had said, to beg her forgiveness if he had to. But like a ghost, she seemed to have simply disappeared.

"Rose?"

Muffled voices drew him towards the study door. There was an argument going on though he couldn't tell between whom through the thick oak door. Turning the knob, Logan was surprised to find both Benn Finn and Jasper poised over something that lay on the table between them.

"I'm telling you, if she was trying to run away she wouldn't have left this letter for him!" Jasper seemed exasperated, "We know the Queen, she is not one for cloak and dagger, at least not the way you are Benjamin Finn."

"And _I'm_ telling you that she wrote the letter so that we could find out how much of a _bastard_her 'dear' brother is, as if we needed to be reminded!"

Stepping further into the room, Logan scowled at the blond ex-soldier before turning to Jasper, "What is this about Rose?"

There was a sense of unease within the room, a tension that reminded all three men of Albion before Rose had taken the throne. Uncomfortable though it was Logan repeated his question a second time, desperate for some kind of information.

Instead of words, a thin sheaf of paper was thrust into his hands, the writing delicate and clearly that of his sister. Moving towards the window so as to see the words more clearly, the more he read the more his stomach twisted into a cold knot.

"When did you find this?"

Looking up, dark eyes penetrating in their stare, Logan directed the question of Jasper once more, "I need to know."

"We found the letter about twenty minutes ago," Ben cut in, eyes frosty as he stared at the darker haired man, "Jasper found me an hour before that, said that Rose had been acting strangely these last couple of days. We were concerned, not that _you_ would know anything about that."

Ignoring the snide remark, Logan folded the letter, pocketing it as he left the two men behind. Guilt weighed heavily upon him, it was only when he arrived at the stables, and saw the empty stall of his sister's favorite horse that he seemed to come back to himself.

Touching the letter one last time, the fallen King found himself in Millfield several hours later, sweat streaked but undaunted as he began searching the opulent village for some sign of Albion's beloved lady.

Rumors abounded, some farfetched, others more reasonable. And though he was sure the people meant to be helpful, it was only after much impatient questioning that he arrived at the site of an old cottage, long since defunct. Standing at the small walled gateway that defended the overgrown garden, Logan found himself thinking about all that had transpired to bring him here.

All his accusations, his words, all of _her_ pain.

From where he stood he could see blood on wrought iron ornamentation and further down on the path the blood splatters grew larger, more numerous.

_Don't let those be hers. _Please_, don't let those be hers. _

The though repeated over and over in his head, an incessant mantra to keep the terrible twisting sensation in his stomach at bay.

"I wouldn't go in there if I was you."

Behind him a buxom serving woman had stopped on her way back from her master's home, "The monsters may be gone now, but that cottage is cursed, no two ways about it."

"I was told a female Hero was spotted around here." Logan gave her only a cursory glance before turning back to the home, "Do you know anything about that?"

"The lady Hero, you mean?"

The woman sounded surprised, "She arrived early this morning, said she would clean this place up, that she wouldn't stand for any more citizens being terrorized by Balverines or Bandits."

"You know… look just like her," the servant remarked after a long moment of examining him. "Well, maybe not _exactly_ like her, but your coloring is close enough. She smiled more than you did though, well…before the fighting started, then she didn't smile so much. Balverines take a lot of concentration to kill, even for someone with magic."

As if the thought had just occurred to her the plucky woman turned large brown eyes up at him, "Do you cast magic too?"

At Logan's penetratingly icy silence, the woman returned to her story, "In any case, she cleaned Millfield right up; all by herself she took care of those beasts. But mind you, it wasn't without cost. The blood out here isn't the worst of it; it was _everywhere_ inside that cottage and rumor has it that not all of it was Balverine."

"She was hurt?" The cold in Logan's stomach intensified, until he was sure he was going to be sick, "Did you see what happened?"

"Oh no, of course not." Smiling cheerfully the curvy woman shrugged, "I just heard it from Lucy who saw it from across the way. Poor Hero, Lucy said that she was facing off with this white one, Balverine that is, and just as she ran it though the thing sank its claws right through her."

Logan felt as if claws were sinking right into _him_, "Did she die?"

"Die?" The servant sounded incredulous, "Of course not! Hurt of course, I wouldn't worry about it too much though."

"And why not?"

Logan felt close to panic as his eyes flickered up to where the rundown cottage sat upon the hill, feeling ill at the thought that the blood on those walls belonged to his sister.

"I've heard it on good word that Master Reaver, you've heard of him I'm sure, found her and took her home with him."

"Reaver?"

Distantly Logan heard himself repeat the man's name. Blind to all but the monstrous mansion that dominated the Millfield waterfront, Logan felt a wave of nausea threaten to overtake him. If Rose was indeed still alive and if Reaver had 'rescued' her then it was only for one purpose. And as he urged his horse into action it was with a rising sense of panic that Logan acknowledged that that _purpose_ was surely not a noble one.


	10. 10 Imagination

**AN: **Thanks to all for the lovely comments - I love hearing from you, your thoughts about the characters, the possibility of Princess Rose and Logan (is it or isn't it? Lol we shall see). I am always up to answering any questions or perhaps even htaking suggestions if you have a word or phrase you'd like for me to try writing from :) I have a list for myself, but I thought I'd open it up to you guys if you were interested. THe story will go on as planned - but I'm curious to see where you all think it might ;)

Love you all for your kind words! Enjoy!

~Voi

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**Theme 10: Imagination**

Rose woke to silk sheets, a velvet canopy and the deep chuckling of a faintly familiar but otherwise unrecognizable male voice.

"Well, good morning my dear lady, did you sleep well?"

Groaning softly, the young woman had barely sat herself up when her hands brushed against the clean linens that wrapped her shoulder and stomach. Looking down in delayed response, it was with a started realization that she realized that save for the lacy lingerie she wore she was otherwise undressed.

Looking up in muted horror, Rose scrambled to cover herself, swaying when her rapid movements sent jolts of pain down her back and across her chest. Her illness, when coupled with the wounds she received by the White Balverine, seemed to sap a tremendous amount of energy. Steadying herself, the young woman scowled at the amused expression on the other's face.

"Reaver, why am unclothed?"

"Unclothed? Yes…I do believe I remember helping with that. Not entirely naked though if I do recall – what a shame."

Reaver's smile was equal parts lustful and dangerous, "I can always change that if you prefer my lady, all it would take would be one…gentle…pull on those ribbons and…" the older man seemed to sigh, "I can promise we would have fun my dear, you and I."

Still half-asleep, Rose did her best to fend off the man's advances.

"You offered much the same to me once several months ago, my answer still stands." Rose replied, tugging the corner of the blanket a little higher.

"Remind me again what it was that you answered, my dear."

"I'm _not_ your 'dear' – and I said 'no' to you last time."

"Truly?" The dark haired man looked surprised, "Then you have no idea what you're missing. Are you certain I can't convince you otherwise?"

Looking unmoved, the young queen appeared to grow surlier with every word, "I'm positive. Now leave me be so I can get dressed and leave."

And though it took several more minutes to convince him that she wanted him _out_ of the room before she would leave her protective bedding, in the end Rose had her way.

Grumbling as she pulled on her tunic and skirt, she had stepped out into a small adjoining hallway in search of her shoes when she found herself face to face with a painting…of her mother.

What such a thing was doing in _Reaver_'s home was a mystery, but so too was the state of her mother _in_ the painting. An image of youthful beauty, Sparrow seemed so entirely unlike the regal image she had been as queen, the painting so startlingly intimate that Rose wondered if perhaps the canvas had been meant as a gift for a loved one.

Rose wouldn't have put it past Reaver to have stolen a painting; images of the Queen _before_ she was famous were known to be worth many times their weight in gold. Rose didn't want to consider the possibility that the painting had ever been _meant_ for Reaver, Sparrow had never mentioned the Hero of Skill except with disdain and Rose was loath to change that memory now.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Reaver appeared behind her like some sort of apparition, materializing at her side as if by some strange magic. Despite his words, he too appeared entirely engrossed in the painting.

"I don't understand." Looking back at him, Rose gestured to the image, "Why do you have this?"

"Your mother?" Raising one eyebrow, the head of Industries seemed to consider her again, "You're Sparrow's little brat are you?"

"I am the Queen's daughter, yes. I would have thought you would recognize me after all of our dealings this past year."

Reaver laughed, "I _deal_ with a lot of people, girl, I rarely remember specific people at all."

"But you remember my mother," Rose pointed out slowly, "Surely that means something."

Laughing, the man sat down upon in the luxurious leather chair, "Of course it does. Sparrow was the most hard-headed, annoying woman I have _ever_ met. Wasn't even smart enough to choose money in the end – poor thing had to save up for _years_ to afford anything."

Despite his words, his voice seemed different as if there was some disconnect between the words her was speaking and what he actually felt.

"Then you knew her before she became Queen."

"I knew her when she had a daughter named Finch." Reaver answered, dark eyes crinkling in amusement though he never looked away from the painting, "Didn't survive though. It was to be expected of course, marry a non-hero and all you'll get are non-hero children. They don't survive the things they should…pity."

"That's not true." Rose frowned at him, "The Hero of Oakvale, our ancestor, had a father who wasn't a hero."

"Yes well…there were Hero _Academies_ back then. No one nowadays is a natural Hero without a both mommy and daddy having a bit of the blood in them."

None of Reaver's logic was making sense since Logan was clearly her brother and hadn't shown quite the same ability to become a Hero that she had. And though she was uncertain as to her mother's heritage, she doubted that both _her_ parents had had the blood of heroes in them. It just seemed too unlikely.

Scowling at the man, Rose called him on it, chin thrust outward in challenge.

"You're nothing but a liar, Reaver. And this time you didn't even have the decency to do it properly."

Taunting him, Rose felt for the first time a glimmer of control over her situation, however brief.

"Oh maybe… I do so love a good story." Reaver smiled as he caught her challenge, "Let me tell you one last one. In every generation prior there has always been a pair of siblings. And in the end, one of them becomes the Hero who saves the day and the _other_ dies. The Hero of Oakvale lost his sister to bandits as a child, and your mother lost _her_ sister to the machinations of a man named Lucien."

Giving the young woman a smirk, the dark haired reprobate leaned forward, looking away from the portrait of the old Queen for the first time.

"So tell me, how is it that _your_ brother seems to have escaped death for so long? Made some friends in high places?"

"That's none of your business." The words were both a warning and a threat. "You leave my brother alone."

"I take orders from you?" The smirk upon his lips widened as he leaned back, "Clearly you damaged something in that fight with those Balverines. But then, maybe you're just too much like your mother to ignore flirting with danger."

Reaver's smirk sharpened then, sharpened and yet somehow seemed softer.

"Why are you smiling like that?" His look bothered her, made Rose protective of the woman she had called 'mother', protective despite the fact that the beloved Queen of Albion had been dead several years.

"I knew Sparrow when she was first married." Reaver repeated himself from several moments ago, "When she had a little girl named Finch…"

Rose watched as his smile grew broader still.

"… and a little boy named Logan."

"_What_?"

"Logan had a twin sister. And one day, because Sparrow threatened everything, her greatest enemy came to her home and slaughtered both her daughter and husband."

"But-"

"You look so surprised – but you can't deny that _this_ story makes sense."

_"No…"_

Rose shook her head, face pale and eyes wide in something akin to growing horror.

"Let me put it this way; if Logan was the twin to the daughter your mother lost then the pattern of sibling deaths is fulfilled and neither you nor your brother need worry about losing the other to an enemy of the family. _At the same time _neither your brother nor his twin showed signs of Heroic ancestry, so wouldn't that mean that _you_ who inherited your mother's legacy are born from the union of two heroes?"

"Y-you're scrambling the two stories you told me earlier!"

Vaguely Rose noted that her voice was pitched too high to sound calm, tight in a way that betrayed her confusion, her fear.

"That may be so my dear," Reaver tapped his finger against his lips, "But it's not my responsibility to show you what is fact and what is my own special brand of lies."

"My mother's husband… the man Albion called king, was _not_ a hero!"

And at this Reaver began to laugh, his deep voice echoing in the darkness, "Right you are my dear. So tell me…wouldn't it make sense that your mother's husband…was _not_ your father?"

He spoke that last statement with such glee that Rose knew it to be true, feeling ill at the thought that her own lineage was all but unknown to her, cast into doubt by one wretched man.

"But if he wasn't my father then…"

Rose struggled to maintain what control she could, feeling increasingly helpless the longer she stood there, staring at the painting.

"Who indeed…" Reaver seemed to consider the question, "The answer might surprise you I think…"

And then Rose was alone, the silence sudden, all-consuming and so penetratingly absolute that Rose felt the cold tugging disorientation of the dark so very reminiscent of the caves on Aurora. Near ill with worry, and the terrible sensation that she had just learned a dark truth her mother had tried to cover up, Rose trembled as she sought out the support of the wall, using it to stabilize her in a way her legs refused to do.

"Rose!"

How funny that in a moment everything can change so suddenly. Light spilled from the open doorway like a brilliant beacon, the only shadow caused by the man standing there. Light amidst the dark, Rose didn't doubt how perfectly suitable the idea was for this one man, despite his faults.

And though he was framed in the doorway, his face too darkened by shadow to see clearly, there was no mistaking the outline of his body, the distinct way in which he held himself. Her heart leapt at the sight of so familiar a figure. There were so many questions left unanswered, the lines between truth and lie, reality and imagination a terrible blurred mess in her mind.

"Logan."

She sobbed his name, trembling as he crossed the hall, his face unreadable as he pulled her close, wrapping his traveling coat around her shaking shoulders.

There was so much to think about, but for now it could wait, because she was in _his_ arms, feeling the heat of his breath against her skin as he pulled her close, inhaling the familiar scent of the man closest to her heart.

"Forgive me." The words were whispered against her hair, his deep voice an almost imperceptible rumble in his chest as he cradled her in his arms, "Please forgive me, for what I've said."

Clutching at his back she buried her face in his neck she sobbed against him, "I'm glad you came for me."

And though she couldn't see his face, the arms around her tightened, pulling her closer still, reveling in the forgiveness she offered with her honesty.

"Always."


	11. 11 Crest

**AN:** And I strike again :P I should be working on my film project, but alas this is just too addictive! Enjoy this next chapter - it take place roughly at the same time of Imagination though this chapter slightly proceeds it.

Thanks again for all of your feedback - you guys have my deepest appreciation!

~Voi

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**Theme 11: Crest **

"Ah, the wayward prince comes to rescue the injured princess, tell me, how is it you plan to slay the fire breathing dragon?"

"Where is she, Reaver?"

Striding into the opulent mansion that dripped with every sort of overindulgence, the dark-haired man appeared resolute, unwilling to rise to petty comments.

"Ah…my mistake. _You_ are the fiery dragon, aren't you?

"Where. Is. she?"

The words were growled low, echoing dangerously despite the fact that the young man was no hero. Reaver couldn't help but taunt the poor boy further, placing one slim hand around his ear and leaning over the balcony as if trying to hear.

"Who was it you were looking for? I clear forgot the moment I looked at your pretty face."

The angry expression on Logan's face grew darker in fury, but he answered, unwilling to risk his sister's safety in a moment of emotion. Not again.

"Rose."

"The Queen?" The industrious man grinned lasciviously, "Such a pretty thing…all smooth skin and curling hair; quite up to experimentation too if those tattoos are any indication. She reminds me of her mother...hmm?"

Watching Reaver trail his hand along the banister of his balcony, there was no missing the suggestive way his hand lingered, _stroked_ the exquisite mahogany wood. Every protective instinct came roaring to the forefront, and Logan reached for the sabre that awaited his hand.

"If you have touched one hair on her head there won't be anywhere you can hide that I won't find you and kill you where you stand!"

"Pish-posh, no need for such fighting words, I was just asking…" Reaver seemed to pout, "Besides I can already tell you _do_, it's written all over your jealous face."

Sighing, the well-dressed man twirled a strand of hair, "Oh how fun, forbidden love. I can't remember the last time I tried that…I'm _so_ jealous."

"_Where is she, Reaver?"_

"Oh fine... she's over there." Reaver pointed towards a wall hung with heavy velvet curtains. Slowly they rose, revealing a glass and steel window and behind that, a sleeping Queen, the bandaged expanse of shoulder and neck the only thing visible beneath sumptuous sheets. "Aren't you lucky I got to her? She would be dead if she had to rely on _you_ any."

Though there was no way of him knowing, Reaver's taunt hit Logan squarely in the chest, striking at the very core of him.

"Let her out." Logan breathed harshly, hand still clenched on the saber. "I've no time for your games; she needs to be at the castle."

He longed to move closer to the window, to reassure himself that she was alright, but to let down his guard, or show even the smallest weakness would spell peril for them both.

"Back to the castle?" Reaver looked surprised, "I was under the impression she was running away, from _you_ wasn't it?"

The accusation was cutting, intensely so. Looking up to lock eyes with the older man, it dawned on the fallen king that perhaps this socialite of questionable taste knew more than he said.

"I'm here to get her back." Insisting, Logan didn't allow his hand to leave its resting place on the hilt of his sword.

"Get her back?" Reaver parroted again, "What makes you think she even wants to see you?"

"I'm not leaving her with you," was the harsh response that was not quite a reply.

"Well then, since you are going to be here for a while, why don't you play a little game for me?"

And before Logan could even reply, the room was filled with the low roar of enraged beasts, enraged _balverines._

"I hope this gives you some perspective."

Those were the last words Logan heard before all other thought faded under the demand to survive. Every breath seemed suddenly a relief, every second when pain was not lancing across his arms, his back a moment when he _had_ to strike or be struck in return.

There were only two of them, but the assault seemed unending.

And when, finally, the last balverine fell dead upon the polished marble, Logan could do little more than gaps for breath, wincing at the long cuts on his arms, his back.

"Congratulations, it took you a little over one hour to kill two balverine juveniles – such a big, brave man!"

Reaver appeared once more at the top of the balcony, looking strangely pleased, "I trust that was a learning experience?"

Logan's arms throbbed and stung, the wound on his shoulder searing with blistering pain, but Rose continued to be the only thing on his mind.

"I've completed your little task, Reaver. Release us."

"Release you?" The older man sounded hurt, "But I'll miss you so very much. You are nearly as entertaining as your sister when you fight. Not quite as flashy, what with her using _magic_, but it was nice seeing some swordsmanship."

When Logan remained silent, Reaver sighed.

"Oh very well, your sister is through _there._"

At the far end of the room another door opened, leading into a dark hallway. There was no way of knowing whether the path would truly lead to his sister, but as Logan sheathed his sword and began to move to the door he knew that even if it didn't he would find a way.

Reaver didn't move until the fallen-king had left the great hall, and it was only then that he turned to the room behind him, drawing a familiar pocket-watch from his coat. Gold and inlaid with precious lapis lazuli, the design upon it was unique, meant only for him.

Finely wrought detail glinted dully in the candle light, a little sparrow amidst a briar of roses.

"You are right again, my love." The smile on his face was at once both pained and pleased as he opened the small clock and gazed upon its two faces. "She will be kept safe, and I can continue to do what I do best…"

His thumb caressed the miniature portrait of the Sparrow in delicate frame of his watch, his eyes trained on the soft blue of unblinking eyes, the tumble of curls that reminded him so much of their daughter. Looking for all the world like a man without hope, he laughed instead, and in the next moment he was gone, leaving his thought suspended in the air, unfinished, unanswered, unfulfilled.


	12. 12 Kingdom

**AN:** Ok, so I'm totally spoiling you all but I'm loving every moment of it :) You guys are super awesome, I love your feedback and the amount of you who have added this story to a favorite or alert. Thank you all for your suport - it means a lot to me!

Enjoy~

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**Theme 12: Kingdom**

"What should I get you?"

Summer was high in Albion, the brilliant blue of the sky and delicate white clouds the most perfect of backdrops for an afternoon on the terrace. Carefully scattered with plush benches of every size and make, the tiles expanse of their summer manor was the envy of every noblewoman in the kingdom. Not that either the Queen or her brother were aware, their attention too much involved with what to get from the kitchen on such a warm day.

Having spent the better part of the morning working on all the official documents that came with ruling a kingdom, Rose had called a break at the midday to luxuriate in the very _Auroran_ weather that had come upon Albion.

Dressed in a light green sundress with great billowing sleeves, Rose enjoyed the caress of the breeze on her skin and the warmth of the sun on her face. Heat and comfort seemed to have all but disappeared since her deal with Theresa, her body slow to warm beneath blankets, her fingers and toes cold at the tips.

"Rose?" Rough hands pressed to her forehead, "What did you want to drink?"

"Hmm?" Focusing on the man and not the glorious sky behind him, Rose caught the flicker of concern before he could hide it. Still, she knew better than ask him. Instead she gave him her best smile, feigning a vivaciousness she didn't quite feel.

"I'll just have water, Logan."

The moment he left, her smile faltered, drawn downwards by the words Reaver had told her, the spun tales of truth and lie that refused to become untangled. But she had to figure it out, if just to know that her brother was truly safe and not a pawn in a game where there could only the younger sibling lived and became a hero.

Frowning, she rubbed at her forehead, feeling the beginnings of headache that had everything to do with fatigue. The nagging sense that she was running out of time to decode Reaver's words were becoming increasingly apparent as each day seemed harder and harder to face, to raise herself from her bed.

Trying to still the tremor of her hands, Rose clenched them in the delicate layers of her dress, careless of the wrinkles she created there.

"Rose."

A chalice of water, chilled with ice and infused with some strange fruit appeared before her, patiently held as she slowly gathered the strength to lift her arms and receive it in her palms.

"Thank you."

Taking a sip, Rose took a moment to savor its icy tang before settling it in her lap, unable to raise her arms any longer.

Eyes straying to where her brother had just sat, she smiled at the picture her made, his dark hair messily combed, booted feet propped against the small salon table, a book open on his lap.

Ever the same, he looked much the same he had when they had been children, visiting their mother's adopted family here. Always willing to find adventure, Rose had spent many a season checking the house from top to bottom in search of some secret. Logan had always contented himself with books, studying and swordplay. It was only as they had gotten older that Rose had been able to join him, and even then, combat had taken second place to court etiquette.

"Logan, I want you to dance with me."

The words were out of her mouth before she realized she had spoken. Memories weighing heavily in the air, Rose could still see her younger self going through the motions of the waltz, her brother waiting patiently for her to stop _thinking_ and start _moving._

Looking up from his novel, the Logan stared at her blankly for a moment, not quite understanding. Putting down his glass and folding the book properly back, the fallen king kept his face carefully neutral as he watched his too-pale sister suddenly come alive at such a prospect.

"It's been _years_, I know that. But what do you think? Might we try it once more?"

She seemed suddenly alight with energy; his expression was more akin to worry than acceptance.

"Won't you please join me?" her smile was genuine as she rose graceful to her feet, the delicate jade gauze slipping over her body with fluid grace, accentuating the curve of her back as she straightened. Rising to the tips of her toes in a display of skill, Rose grinned as she tugged him upwards.

"Don't think I've forgotten, mother made us _both_ take dance lessons."

Drawing him away from the benches and towards the small clearing by the burbling fountain on the lawn, the Queen of Albion seemed suddenly as she once had been, flush with life and vitality.

Smiling winsomely at her brother, dressed in his customarily drab white tunic and black breeches, she waited until he was close enough before she stepped into position. Half expecting him to refuse her, it was with some pleasant surprise that she found his hand on her waist, the other gently clasping her smaller hand in the appropriate pose.

"You haven't forgotten it at all, have you?"

Rose laughed at him, eyes sparkling as she caught the barest of smiles in response to her teasing.

And then they were in motion, whirling gracefully as each step propelled them into the next, left, right, cross, until it was not just one step but a single fluid dance. Bodies pressed together, every shift an action of two hearts beating to a common rhythm, two minds thinking as one.

Inhaling as she moved with him, Rose caught the familiar scent of him as he pulled her close for one step, releasing her in the next. Dark and musky, there was a lingering sweetness to him that Rose could only ever seem to sense when she shut her eyes, forgetting everything else.

And yet, when she opened her eyes, the bright daylight revealed the strong lines of his shoulders, his neck and arms through the deceptively thin linen tunic he wore.

He was a handsome man, her brother.

Tilting her head, Rose was pleased by the thought though it was not one that had occurred to her before. She had always admired Logan. As a young girl he had seemed so much older, so much more in command of himself and others. Harsh or cold some would say, but Rose could not remember a time when he had not treated her gently, shielded her from the cruel truths of reality until she had been old enough to accept them.

And even then, she mused, perhaps she had not had to accept _all_ of them.

There was only one dark mark against him, and even then she could not help but forgive him for his cruelties. It was, perhaps, the weakness of being the younger sibling that she would so readily forgive him.

Catching the glint of dark eyes, Rose smiled tenderly as she continued through their intricate motions, finding him precisely where he should be at every turn. The warm hands on her waist, clasping her hand, were confident as they steered her around, leading but not pulling.

Around and around, each touch, graze and caress seemed to last a life time, each moment drawing the breath from her lungs as she looked into his eyes and saw her image reflected there. They were the heart of Albion, both he and her, pulsing with the lifeblood of the kingdom, carrying the legacy of heroes.

There was the beat of his heart through his chest, the pulse of his blood in the heat of his hand. Rose seemed to drown in the sensations, the smell and sight and _feel_ of him.

And then, just as it had begun, so too did it have to end.

Gently touching him on the cheek, flushed from their exertions though not nearly as red as her own, Rose grinned. Eyes alight, she laughed as his arms shifted, firmly holding her in place when she swayed on her feet.

"It has been a _very_ long time since I'd done that."

Sighing in contentment and the soft ache in her feet, Rose didn't complain when he collected her in his arms and carried her to the couch. Turning so that he would sit first, Rose found herself nestled comfortably across Logan's long legs, head resting against his neck when she closed her eyes to try and catch her breath.

And though she eventually felt the tightness in her chest ease, it seemed too long for her protective brother.

"We're not going to that again." His voice rumbled resolutely from his chest as he turned to look at her, "I was careless."

"Careless?" Rose couldn't feign the confusion and hurt she felt over his words, "What was wrong with dancing? We were having such fun!"

"You're exhausted." The words were accusatory, daring her to lie, "I _know _you're unwell. I should have refused."

"Well I'm glad you didn't!" Unable to hide her anger, she sat up so as to stare him in the eye, "I'm sorry you regret it. But I don't, not when those few moments made me feel more alive than I have all month. Not when I finally managed to get you to _almost_ smile for me."

It was as if the mention of such happy things had caused it to stir in her chest, the coldness that continued to plague her. Creeping into her hands and feet, Rose stifled the gasp that came to her lips, refusing to worry the man who held her so tenderly in his lap.

"Logan?"

She asked the question with deceptive slowness, fighting off crippling fatigue and cold to gently stroke the side of his face.

"You know I love you, don't you brother?"

Dark eyes bore down on her, quick to understand something was wrong. She never could hide anything from him.

"I was just reminding you…"she shook her head before she grew too tired to hold it up, resting against his chest, taking comfort in the steady beating of his heart.

"_Rose_."

His hands were on his face, carding gently through her hair as he fought against panic, a fear that even he could not completely control.

"I'm fine," the words were slurring together as she curled closer, her face tilting upwards to see the lines of concern on his face, "It will be ok, you'll…"

Her lips brushed against his then, the briefest, almost imperceptible graze of plush lips against his own. It was impossible to say who had leaned forward, but it was the last Rose managed before she sagged suddenly, bereft of consciousness.

And though the entire kingdom celebrated the warmth of the summer sun, Logan watched as _she_ began to fade in his arms. So small, frail, but infinitely precious for more than just her position as queen; Logan traced the pale contours of her face as he watched her breathing slow.

Swallowing against the sudden knot in his throat, Logan looked up in confusion as Jasper appeared.

"Oh my, what in the world has happened, Logan?"

The dark haired man didn't know how to reply to the question, but as he considered his sister's peaceful face another name floated through his mind. Someone who might have the answers they were looking for.

"Jasper, where can I find Theresa?"


	13. 13 Options

**AN:** So here's another chapter for all of you lovely people out there. Your responses continue to humble me - and I just wanted to thank you :)

Enjoy this new installment!

~Voi

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**Theme 13: Options**

He found her in Aurora, surrounded by the shifting sands that seemed to forever conceal and hide. A month spent looking for her in Albion have revealed no clues, and it had been then that Logan had decided to journey to the place where he had last met the seer, the last time he had heard her warnings.

And though several of his loyal soldiers had offered to accompany him, he had known that to find Theresa would be to travel alone. Such isolation had given him much time to think, and every waking moment seemed consumed with worry over the Queen who seemed to wither with each passing day.

She had not woken since their dance in the garden, and even now Logan could not make sense of her final worries, of her reminder…that she loved him.

Why had she not warned him? Why had she not said _anything_?

"And so it begins again, Logan."

The woman's voice was just as her remembered, aged, but wise in a way that chilled him. He didn't doubt that she knew everything that had transpired in the castle though she had not been there. Clothed in her customary hooded garment, it was only when he noticed the smokey white-black tendrils of fog at the edges of her dress that he realized he was no longer in Aurora.

"I need a cure."

Without preamble the once-king laid his desires at her feet, too tired from months of travel and nights that seemed hopelessly consumed with thoughts of his ailing sister.

"And what do you have to offer me in exchange? What is this knowledge worth?"

"Anything," his answer was immediate, "_Everything,_ if it means she can live as she used to."

"Do you know what is wrong with her?"

"Rose is ill," was the response, "I don't know more than that."

"She would not burden you, it is not her way." Theresa nodded in understanding, "The payment will be higher because of it; do you accept these terms?"

"Yes."

"Very well then." A soft silvery light surrounded him then, the glow warming his skin for a moment before fading. "The payment is made, and you may have your answers."

"What is wrong with Rose?"

"Your sister is destined to die before her time, through her own choosing."

He had known it to be true, _somehow_, but the words seemed to clench painfully in his chest.

"Why?"The dark haired man demanded, "Was it _you_ who cursed her? Is she to die because of a dealing she made with you?"

"I made an exchange, one she asked of me." Theresa spoke calmly, tranquil and without hesitation, "I am not the _reason_ she is dying, nor the _cause_ of her illness. As I have said, your sister chose this path herself."

"Rose would only willingly choose death if it was to save _Albion_." Logan strode forward, "Is that why she wastes away? Is it her life-force that keeps the enemies of the kingdom at bay?"

"You see her as a queen, a ruler." Theresa merely shook her head, "She came to me as a woman, oh fallen king. She offered her life in exchange for the life of another."

"Another?" Repeating her words, Logan frowned, "You mean to tell me she sacrificed so much for an _individual_?"

He seemed to scoff at the words, "Rose is young but she is not stupid. She knows how important she is to the kingdom, for what sort of person would she willingly die?"

"A tyrant beyond redemption."

So simple an answer, and had he been any other man the words would have been too vague to understand. But no sooner had the words been uttered when Logan knew with a singular, terribly, the person for whom Rose had paid so handsomely.

_"Me?"_

The horror contained in that single realization had been so consuming that Logan was only barley aware of the

"You accepted such a lopsided bargain?" His throat seemed too tight, clenching in disbelief, anger. "How could you allow such a thing? Was she not _your_ champion?"

The agony in his voice was equal to his fury, and there seemed nothing to equal the force with which both emotions assailed him now. "Was she not under your protection? Your _guidance_?"

"You did not see Rose when she came to me foolish boy, you did not see the light die from her eyes as she offered all of Albion to see you live, once more."

"'Live once more'?" Logan repeated once more, "What are you saying?"

She spoke in riddles, of that Logan was sure. There was something she had not telling him, and it left him utterly uncomprehending until she allowed the truth to fall from her aging lips.

"You _died_ that day with the Crawler, Logan of Albion. Protecting your sister was a noble death, for that I cannot find fault, but you did die nonetheless."

All words of protest as the truth crashed over him.

"Your sister begged me to save you. Promised me, much as you just did, that she would pay _any_ price to see you alive again. Calling in all of her favors that I owed to her, I was able to find the means to pay for such a costly transaction, but as you can imagine the toll on her was tremendous."

_His fault_.

The thought was sickening, so completely removed from what he had expected that in that single moment the last shreds of decorum, of control, that had kept him composed for so many years shattered with explosive force.

"You cannot be right." He seemed to refuse her as his hands trembled, pushing dark hair from his face, "You _cannot_. It is not possible that she…"

"To deny such truth would be to do a great disservice to your sister. You _must_ accept this."

"But _why _has she done such a thing_?"_

There was no humor upon the Seer's face, "If you do not know why, then you cannot possibly save her."

"So there is nothing to be done?" Logan asked raggedly, "You would have the young Queen of Albion die so soon after taking the throne?"

"It was _her_ choice." The seer reminded him, not for the first time. "Of all things she desired your life most of all, and so she must pay the consequences."

"That is unacceptable!" Dark eyes shone with an emotion that had lost all form of control, "She cannot be allowed to do this! Rose is only just grown into a woman, I cannot…_will not_ be the reason she dies so young."

"Then what is it you ask of me?" Theresa mused, "Do you wish to give back the gift? Do you wish to _die_ for your Queen?"

"If that is the only way she can be saved, then yes." The words were wrought of iron, "I know she is meant for more, Theresa. Take my life and give her back the future that belongs to her."

"I cannot force back the heart which she willingly gave; all that it will accomplish will be your death and her continued deterioration. There is _nothing_ you can give to me, Logan, which will ever equal her sacrifice."

_"Please._"

On his knees, feeling for the first time entirely powerless, as both man and once-king, Logan struggled and failed to hold himself silent, "_You cannot allow her to die_."

The seer was silent then, for a very long time. And when at last she spoke, the words were careful, measured.

"The cost of this exchange, Logan, would be everything. Your reputation, your future, everything would be made to serve her."

"I told you I would pay anything." The response was quiet, but there was no hiding the depth of emotion on the young man's face.

Theresa seemed to smile then, a small one, the first time such an emotion had crossed her face in so very long a time.

"You must _love_ her, Logan. Understand why. That is the cost of your questions today, and the life of your sister. You must give _everything_, in order to understand."

The seer shook her head, "It will not be easy, indeed it might not even be _right_, but if you truly would sacrifice your life for her, then you own nothing that does not belong to her. Care only for your Rose, fallen King, and she will live to fulfill the destiny that belongs to her."

And then he was alone, standing not in the tropical climate of Aurora but in the tomb-like silence of a familiar room; his room.

"Why?"

He found himself in _her_ room not a minute later. Gazing down at her sleeping face, Logan felt the pain of realization as sharp as any sword. Pale in the brightness of the moon, it was hard to tell how vibrant a woman she had been not a year ago.

Every little smile, every tender look she had ever given him seemed to flash across his eyes, memories that now seemed overshadowed by the fact that she was _dying_, trading her life for his.

He wanted to wake her, to speak with her and demand _why_. But most of all, he wanted to leave, to turn away as if just removing his presence from her life would somehow cure her. And yet, even as he thought

The night seemed longer than any he had ever experienced, but Logan dared not leave her side, remembering Theresa's words. Trailing fingertips along the side of his face, he bowed his head as he swallowed the guilt, the injustice he felt, and instead slowly moved to lay beside her.

To feel the slow rise and fall of her breathing,

To feel the silken texture of her hair.

To remind himself that she was still alive.

And though she was not there, only Theresa was privy to the delicate way he interlaced his fingers with hers, drawing his sister's chilled body close before he too drifted off to sleep.


	14. 14 Nurturing

**AN**: Alright so I've been on the road to recovery after a brutal set of finals - so I have this gift here for you. Thank you once again to everyone who sent feedback - as always I appreciate the honesty and love that you all take the time to write me.

As always I don't own anything you recognize!

Enjoy!

~Voi

* * *

**Theme 14: Nurturing **

Rose opened her eyes to the colors of autumn, and though it was beautiful it did not make any sense. Had it not been summer just the morning past?

Still, the trees just outside her window were resplendent in their amber, scarlet and cocoa colors, and it was a sight that beckoned Rose outside to her balcony. And though it was cooler outside than she had expected, the feeling was not that of the chilled coldness that had seemed to very near yesterday.

Slowly raising a hand, she flexed it testingly, feeling the warmth of blood beneath her skin rather than penetrating iciness. Something had happened, but she was not yet sure of exactly what nature this change was.

"Lady Rose?"

A voice called her name, familiar in tone but foreign in emotional underpinning. Masculine, the voice soothed her, but not in the same way that Logan's voice seemed to resonate.

It felt as if yesterday had occurred many months ago.

Turning from her position outside, Rose found her ever faithful butler standing at the double doors of her room, his expression one of amazed excitement.

"Hello, Jasper."

Smiling brightly, Rose crossed the open space to give the older man a perky grin, her voice teasing as she asked "Why do you look so surprised to see me?"

"Well it has been quite a while…"

Jasper responded diplomatically.

"Quite a while?" Repeating his words, Rose cocked her head in confusion the smile still lingering across the corner of her lips, "But Jasper I've just gone to see you yesterday. I asked your opinion on that lovely green sun dress."

Smiling wider she patted his arm before going inside her room where the dressing mannequins were awaiting her choice. Jasper followed behind, quietly sputtering; though the impending decision between three beautiful lace confections made the young Queen temporarily allow his uneasy murmurs without comment.

Finally deciding on a deep mauve gown, Rose stepped behind the screen to wash and groom herself, frowning only slightly when her muscles ached in what felt like disuse.

Perhaps she had slept strangely in her bed?

The warm water eventually faded any discomfort, and by then Rose was too far gone enjoying her array of soaps and brushes to dwell on the thought.

It was a good long while before she left.

"Good morning, Logan."

Hours later, she appeared framed in the doorway, rosy with good health. And because no one had yet told him, Logan felt as if he was looking at a ghost.

Straightening with deliberate slowness, dark eyes swept her looking for a sign of malady, finding none. Hair lustrous as opposed to lank, skin tinged peach and pink from a fresh bath, she seemed the epitome of health.

Unable to help himself, he crossed the hall to reach her, finding her suddenly in his arms when she met him halfway, a winsome smile on her face.

"Are you alright?" She asked into his neck, "You look like you're going to faint, you're so pale."

Brushing her mouth against his in a chaste kiss, she grinned as he flushed at the unexpected contact. It was his one weakness, her brother had never been outwardly affectionate and he seemed unable to cope when someone _else_ was.

"Hmm…You look much better now."

Patting him gently on the arm as she led them to the small breakfast table where a modest meal was laid out for one.

"You were going to eat without me?" Rose asked, feeling slightly hurt as she sat down on the loveseat, "We always eat together."

"We haven't eaten breakfast together in several months, Rose."

The words were startlingly rough, harsh almost, and she caught an underlying pain that he seemed incapable of hiding. Unable to look her in the eye, Logan

"What do you mean? We ate together just this past morning; at the manor…"

It dawned on her then that they were most certainly _not_ at the summer home she had woken up to the morning previous. Floundering for words, it was not until Logan gently squeezed her hand with his gloved one that she realized she was clenching hands into fists.

"Several months you said?"

Her voice had gone quiet, scarcely more than a whisper, "I was asleep for that long? But then how did I…"

"I found Theresa." Logan's voice was cold as he turned dark eyes, "I made a deal with her."

Stricken, Rose turned to him, "You didn't. Oh Logan, tell me you kept away from her." Small hands pressed to his cheeks as she forced him to look at her, "What did you do?"

Ever composed, his blank expression reminded her too much of the look he had worn as King, and Rose felt her stomach twist in fear, for him.

"I believe, sister, the better question is what did _you_ do?"

"What do you mean?" The words pushed past bloodless lips, a denial though he had not yet accused her of anything in particular.

"Theresa told me everything. That I died, that you bartered to have me brought back at great cost." The severity in his eyes nearly forced her to look away, "You were _dying_ trying to keep us both alive."

Pulling away from her hold, Logan stood up, height more imposing as she kept seated.

"Why didn't you just let me die?" He asked bitterly, "Better than then you wasting away."

"Why didn't I let you die?" Rose repeated growing at once both angry and upset, "What sort of question is that?"

Pushing her tumble of curls from her face, she straightened her back, every inch the Queen.

"Do you really think to ask me that question, Logan? What when you have done the very same to wake me now?"

He froze, eyes narrowing.

"I heard you, when I was sleeping." She explained, "It was foggy, like when Theresa comes to visit me, but instead I heard your voice. I thought it a dream but…" Her lips pressed together in displeasure, "You are a hypocrite if you think to trade your life for favors like that."

Standing up, she was still dwarfed but her presence was considerable nonetheless.

"Don't think to lecture me on matters of the heart, Logan. If you do not understand _why_ I saved you, then its best you learn quickly."

Gathering her skirts in her hands she turn heel and strode towards the stables, heedless of how impractical her gown was going to make riding.

"Where are you going?" Logan called after her.

Her answer was nearly drowned out by the sharp crash of the door.

"Out."

She found herself in Brightwall several hours later, sweat streaked but more clearheaded than she had been when she left. Physical exertion had always left her at peace, if just because it balanced out her otherwise magical ability and left her feeling balanced.

Dismounting from her horse, Rose paused just outside the hamlet. Sighing contently when she came to the picturesque home she had bought several years ago it was with a small smile that she knocked on the door.

Swing easily open on well-oiled hinges, the interior was confortable and luxurious though not the ostentatious décor of either the castle or Reaver's mansion home. Where money had been spent it had been put towards thick fabrics and sturdy bureaus. It was really only the stout fireplace stove, the very best money could afford, that gave any indication to the real wealth of this inner sanctum.

Pulling the cloak off her shoulders and hanging it on the appropriate hook, Rose went to the small kitchen, filling a small pot of water on the stove before she pulled the appropriate cup and saucer from a nearby cabinet.

Setting both articles on the counter, the young woman paused at the muted mumbling coming from the small bedroom just off the main living space. A look of tenderness passed over her face then, and she momentarily forgot the beginnings of her tea.

But just as her fingers touched the small painted door, a pair of hands settled around her waist, radiating a strength she felt mirrored in the warmth of his body against her back.

Closing her eyes, she could smell the familiar musk and linen. Exhaling softly, his breath whispered along the back of her neck, brushing the fine edge of her ear.

"I feel like you are continuously chasing after me," her lips quirked into a small smile as she turned her head, "Don't you ever stop, Logan?"

The severe expression on his face seemed to gentle, grow sad.

"Not when it appears I am the cause of you running away yet again."

Reaching up to brush the hair from his eyes, Rose noted the sweat on his brow the harshness of his breathing. Familiar and comforting despite his otherwise aloof nature…she looked into the clarity of his eyes and saw the same emotions buried there.

And that was when she realized how very strange it was, this relationship they had. Strange and yet desperately necessary, avoidable and yet too addictive to ignore.

She had known for years, suspected and yet done nothing.

_Theresa had warned her, warned them both of the cost. _

"Oh dear Avo…"

Rose had to stop looking at him, _had_ to think to understand how she was feeling but it was impossible to look away. It had been months since she had last woken and emotion ran hot through her veins, burning through layers of control of self-made rules and fabrication.

_There would be no turning back now, no redemption for what they both knew would happen. _

And when at last they came together it was without rush, without thought, it merely _was._

His lips were warm, dry, but startling soft as they brushed against her cheek, her neck, pressed softly to her mouth and gently parted. Rose flushed as she slowly opened her mouth, allowing him what he sought, her hands tightening on his shoulders.

Every feeling skittered across her spine, electrifying in a way she somehow knew she had imagined before. And everything burned, shouldering as she was borne anew into a body that no longer ran so impatiently towards death.

"Logan…"

Her soft whisper seemed to snap them both back, and Rose watched as realization dawned across her brother's face. Lips tender from his kisses, Rose couldn't help but press shaking fingers to the swollen tissue, surprised at the expression that swirled in his eyes though they were hidden a moment later as his lids shut in concentration.

"I…"

His voice seemed too loud in the stark silence of the room, booming though he seemed scarcely capable of a whisper. Swallowing, he shook his head.

"Rose…"

Unable to find even the right words to speak, Rose stood rooted to her place in the penetrating quiet.

"That shouldn't…"

And though she had indented to finish, in the open bedroom doorway appeared a small child with dark eyes and curly brown hair. Logan's eyes may have been closed, but the new voice was unmistakable in its affection, its confusion.

"Mummy, is that you?"


	15. 15 Pristine

AN: Hello all :) Happy New Year! Thank you all so much for your many **many** comments on the last chapter, I am really glad so many people enjoyed it. This chapter is a bit of a back story so expect more of the usual programming to appear within the next week or so :) Thank you all - I wish you all the best for this upcoming 2011!

As always, I own nothing your recognize :)

Enjoy!

~Voi

* * *

**Theme 15: Pristine**

Luke had been little more than seven years old when she came to visit him for the final time. Dressed in the heavy woolen coat and wide brimmed hat that could only be described as functional, he was as frightened of her as he had always been, unable to do more than stare up at her with wide eyes as she strode into the orphanage.

She was the mother he had been waiting for, he had known from the _first_ time she visited, but she was unlike he had ever expected. And yet, as she bent down before him, her able hands pulling the heavy leather from her head, the startling smile and tender-hearted gaze seemed to melt away his fears as they always did.

"Hello again, Luke."

All around them the voices of the other children, laughing, screeching, shouting, echoed loudly. Luke remained silent as he always did, his expression unreadable as he looked into her golden eyes. For all of the noise _she _remained the very center of his attention, her husky voice comforting in a way that only Elliot, the man who looked after them, mirrored.

"Back again?"

As if thinking the man's name had summoned him, Luke turned to see the kind man seated on the bed beside them. He didn't know why, but there was something almost miserable in the older man's eyes as he looked across the space to where they stood.

A warm chuckle filled the air.

"He's a darling; quiet, but very sweet. I think he might be ready this time. What do you think?"

Luke might have been standing between them, but he remained as silent as a statue merely listening as the two conversed about him, about the possibility of him going with her, going to a place the other children called _home_.

"I just don't know Rose; he really doesn't speak much to begin with and it makes me worry. I would like to keep him for another year if possible, just to be sure. He still is very young."

"I suppose so." At his side, the woman sighed deeply, sending Luke a look of regret, "You know I'll miss him though, I always do."

Elliot's lips quirked into a smile, "I know. But you've always been strong Rose. Another year will go by quickly enough, he'll be ready then."

Young though he might be, there were some things Luke could understand and what he understood at that moment was that once again she was leaving. Leaving him to live a mute existence in a home too full of children that avoided him, too lonely to ever feel like a proper home.

He wanted to be with her, wanted to follow her when she left this small hovel that was the only world he had ever known.

"Luke?"

Warm hands, callused but gentle, smoothed the messy hair from his face, "I'm coming back for you in a year, but I'll visit before then, ok?"

The sadness in her eyes was one the young boy felt mirrored in his chest, emotion squeezing his small heart tightly. He did not want her to go, but past experiences had left him terrified of speaking up, to dare ask.

_"Stop crying you miserable child! All you do is complain!"_

_"What a waste of space you are, why would I feed you when your four other brothers need it more?"_

_"Don't come back! If you won't steal for us then there's no point in having you around!"_

Flinching at the memories, Luke watched as the woman slowly rose to leave, hands tugging the heavy cloak and hat back into place. He wanted to speak, but when he opened his mouth his voice failed him.

He had to say something, _anything_ to get this woman's attention. He didn't want to wait another year to see her, to feel special when she came to visit _him_ specifically.

Gloves came out of a large pocket, plain leather, covering large but feminine hands.

Small mouth working more frantically, Luke tried to make some sound, _anything_ to stop her from leaving him behind. Following her slow stride as she left the room, his small hands sought to grasp her swirling skirts and stop her.

Almost to the door, about to leave him behind – it was then that Luke found his voice, a shrill shout of terror piercing through all other noise.

"N-no! Don't go! DON'T GO!"

He was in her arms not a second after, sniffling and pressing muffled hiccups into the warmth of her shoulder. Large hands rubbed gently across his back, and though she did not say anything, she seemed to know just how to sooth the pain that had forced him so far.

"I can't believe he actually spoke."

Elliot appeared once again, his expression one of surprise, amused _rueful_ surprise.

Humming softly, Rose waited until the young boy had quieted to the barest of whimpers before she made any move to answer her childhood friend. It was apparent to them both that Luke would not be staying at the orphanage any longer.

However, it was not until Luke found himself sitting beside her in the lavish carriage that he realized he was free. Turning to look at his adopted mother Luke found himself, much to his chagrin, unable to speak.

But that was alright, because she seemed to understand.

It was snowing outside, winter stretching its frozen fingers across the usually lush green of the Albion countryside. Meant to inspire the joy of children throughout the kingdom, Luke saw the white flakes and felt only cold, the chill of too many childhoods spent without food, without warmth or proper affection…until now.

Peering into the sky as the tall buildings of Bowerstone Industrial faded; it was with some surprise that Luke found himself awestruck by the soft flurries that drifted down upon them.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" Rose gently patted his back as she dropped a heavy blanket around his shoulders, "I've always loved the weather in Albion."

"Al-bion." Luke sounded the word out slowly, quietly, forehead furrowed deeply in thought, "Is that where we are going?"

Amused, Rose smiled but shook her head, "You're already in it, this kingdom _is_ Albion. Where we are going is a place _in_ Albion."

"This place?" Luke repeated her words again, parroting them since he had no real understanding of geography or even the most basic education. Rose would see to it that tutors would attend him in the future, but for now she would answer what questions she could.

"Brightwall." She replied gently, "My…our home."

It was a long time before either one of them spoke again, falling into a pleasant silence that had everything to do with enjoy the beauty outside and the warmth within. Luke watched as they passed small downs with tall towers and flickering candlelight, saw caravans of gypsys in between the densely packed trees of the forest.

By the time they had reached their destination the stars had come out to dot the sky in a brilliant cloth of velvet and diamond. Stepping out of the carriage had been a shock as sharp wind blew snow flurries and bits of ice against his warm cheek.

"Come on, let's get you inside, there's dinner inside too."

Gentle hands settled the large brimmed hat on his head and tied the blanket around his shoulders in a sort of replica of her own. It didn't do much to keep out the cold, but Luke didn't complain, he knew she was trying.

Drawing closer to the house, Luke listened silently as Rose led him to the front door, her muttering about it being too small for a growing boy and in need of help from someone named Jasper falling on uncomprehending ears.

To his eyes the house was beautiful, warm and so beyond his wildest imagination that he could only silently beg if this be a dream he never wake up.

The disappointment would be crushing.

Inside the cheery window hangings and wall decorations caught his attention, glinting with the deep amber of the firelight. The furniture while old appeared to be in good repair, and though he had only not yet removed his shoes the thick carpet looked promising in its softness.

"Why don't you get settled at the table and I'll get the food."

The decadent scent of pie and sweet meats in the kitchen of their home seemed to waft under his nose at Rose's comment.

_Their_ home.

Rose had used the word before, but thinking them now as he walked towards the dining table seemed to make the idea more solid, something he could _touch_.

He had never had such a thing before, could remember very little pleasantness before the orphanage. But as he was felt the smooth wood of the stool against his hand and was presented with his first home cooked meal Luke couldn't help but smile.

Small it might be, but it was not the size of the building that made this house a home; it was his mother. And as Rose sat beside him, her smile indulgent as she watched him eat, Luke couldn't help but smile back.

It was family that turned a house into a home, and his mother was everything he had ever dreamed of.

"Thank you."


	16. 16 Creation

**AN:** Here's the next chapter - thanks again to everyone for their lovely reviews, some of you have sent me some very beautiful comments and I just wanted to tell you how much it means to me that you took that time. Many thanks to each person who has read this story, I'm pleased to see such interest despite the many twists and turns I throw at you :)

As always, I don't anything you recognize as Fable.

Enjoy!

~Voi

* * *

**Theme 16: Creation**

Rose had only just closed the door behind her, having tucked Luke in bed, when he appeared before her, dark eyes glittering.

"A child, Rose?"

His voice was soft, near silent, but she was forever tuned to him, hearing the words no matter the volume at which he spoke. Still, she refused to speak with her son so close at hand, and she walked around her tall brother, heading instead back to the kitchen where her tea cup was waiting for her.

Pouring the hot water and gently dropping the appropriate satchel of herbs, Rose had only just raised herself on tiptoes to reach the honey on the second shelf when she gasped.

His hand slowly trailed down her neck, slowly stroking down her spine, sensual though it was feather light. She could feel the heat from his body and it made her breath shorten, her cheeks flush as she smelled the musky cologne that clung to him.

"_Logan."_

Taking several steps away, Rose turned to look at him her expression all at once longing and yet carefully controlled. His face mirrored her own.

"Tell me about your son."

His voice was rough as he took the cup from the counter and moved away, eyes watching her as she mechanically went to fetch another for tea.

"Luke is nearly nine years old," Rose began slowly unsure of what to say, "We've been a family for little over a year now."

"He's adopted?" Logan sounded surprised though he appeared otherwise expressionless as he raised the delicate china cup to his lips.

"Elliot sent me a message from the orphanage and asked if there was anything I could do for a special case he had. I fell in love the first time I saw the little boy, and the rest is history."

"But you've kept him from the court's knowledge, haven't you?" Logan's eyes sharpened slightly, "Or am I the last to know about this too?"

"No one but you, Elliot and I know about Luke and how special he is to me. Even his tutors don't know I'm the Queen."

Rose finished making her tea but remained where she was, leaning against the counter, holding the steaming cup in her hands.

"What prevented you from bringing him to court? I distinctly remember you considering a rushed pregnancy for the good of the kingdom."

Rose flushed at how silly the idea sounded so many months after the fact. Still, she found herself quickly sobered as she sought to better explain her young son.

"Luke comes from a home quite unlike our own. He carries scars that even I haven't been able to heal in the year we've had together, and I don't doubt it will take much longer."

She paused to take a sip of her drink.

"He can't spend any long period of time in Bowerstone Industrial without becoming sick, and he is quieter than a child ought to be. If you didn't know better you would almost think him a mute. The castle would be too much for him right now. "

There was a fierce love that entered her eyes whenever she spoke of her son, "None of these issues are _his_ fault, none. But Luke is a very quiet, very private little boy and I don't want to scare him. A few more years here will not hurt him."

"Will he ever be able to inherit the throne?" Logan wanted to know, finishing his tea and carrying the empty cup to the sink.

"Of course." Rose smiled, closing her eyes, "He's my son isn't it?"

A thumb brushed against her cheek then, drawing her attention. Dark eyes, compelling in their intensity, seemed fixed on her mouth and Rose couldn't help but part her lips, the action completely subconscious.

_Would he truly do what she expected?_

_Did she want him to?_

She set down her tea cup slowly, her hand quivering ever so slightly.

And when at last the space between them disappeared it was because they had moved towards one another at the same time, hands tangling in hair and lips meeting in a kiss that was more passionate than the last.

It should never have happened, but it did.

A stolen kiss in the privacy of a library, another in the garden, the month passed in a haze of romance the depths of which seemed unfathomable to the young Queen. She had remained with her son for the duration of season, content to visit the castle only when the most pressing of issues begged her attention. Logan had remained at her side.

It was beautiful, at least for a time.

But with each stolen moment came another pang of guilt, one after another. And though she tried pretend otherwise, Rose could see that it was beginning to affect them both.

Slowly at first, and then more rapidly as autumn had begun to give way to winter; Rose had noticed the changes but said little.

Logan had begun to withdraw into himself, grown quieter during the day and spend the evenings clinging to her as they lay beside one another in bed, his arms cradling her close. She loved him, she had never doubted that thought, but the more she watched him fade the more _she_ could feel herself bend to the pressure of keeping such a relationship private…she had laughed at it once. Their mother had raised a pair of stubborn children second to none.

But for all her forced smiles, the worry grew until one day it became too much. And though she tried to ask her question he chose instead to close the distance between them and leave the question unanswered. Everything came to be tinged with desperation.

It was not until he came to visit her one night that it became so very clear why.

"What are you saying?"

Rose felt the horror well in the pit of her stomach, desperately hoping she had misunderstood.

Her brother lips turned upwards in a humorless smile, "I'm leaving, like I should have nearly a year ago."

She tried but couldn't stop the hurt that seemed to blossom in her chest. Slow but steady it burned in a way that threatened to engulf her, destroy her control. Choking against the instinct to cry, Rose pressed her lips together and forced her eyes to meet him steadily. She wouldn't allow herself to cry, it wouldn't be fair to either of them.

Instead she strove for calm, for a control she didn't feel.

"Why? Why are you leaving now?"

"We can't do this, Rose. _I_ can't do this. It isn't right and it's getting harder and harder to stop."

Logan watched as the young queen absorbed his words, saw as she tried to maintain some semblance of understanding, of acceptance. It was a struggle for him to watch and pretend he didn't feel the same, but he had many years practice and he remained, at least outwardly, unaffected.

Theresa had asked him to care for his sister, to provide her with the love that would help heal her. She had warned him of how dangerous it could be, how much it would cost.

A hundred images flashed through his mind, each one a precious moment spent at his sister's side, supporting her, loving her.

_They should never have pursued it so far. _

Had he been anyone other than her brother Logan knew that there would have been nothing to stop him from staying beside her, from being the man she married, the man who shared her children. But he _was_ her brother, and that was one role that lacked compatibility with the others. He could not be that special someone to her could not be the other half of her whole.

He had thought himself numb, but the thought proved painful enough to pierce him.

"Logan?"

Looking up, Logan realized, somewhat belatedly, that he had missed something Rose had said.

"Hmm?"

"I said that you're not leaving now. It will have to wait until morning." Rose's voice was firm, broking no argument. "If you want to leave, fine. I won't stop you" Her voice caught ever so slightly but she pushed on, "But it's too late to do it now, and the weather outside is horrendous."

"Should I sleep on the chaise then?" Logan responded, accepting her terms gracefully, knowing it was only this final favor she asked of him.

"Don't be daft." Rose scowled at him, looking once more like the spirited sister her remembered, "The guest room is still yours. Use the bed. It wouldn't do to have you chair-sore tomorrow now would it?"

She made to head down the hall, but was stopped short.

"It's alright." Logan raised his hand, "I know where it is, I'll bid you goodnight here."

"Are you certain?" Rose asked, trying to hide the wounds upon her heart with what seemed to be increasing difficulty. "It's no trouble."

"There is no reason for you to lead me."

"But maybe…"

"I've been to that room every night for the past month, I know where it is."

"I know but…"

_"Rose."_

The young queen stilled, her shoulders drooping as she looked up at her brother, his face darkened with both pain and determination.

"I'm sorry."

Logan apologized for what would be the final time, asking forgiveness not only for leaving but for kissing her those many weeks ago, _allowing_ that kiss, for giving in to something they both knew had no happy ending.

Rose mustered some semblance of a smile as she bid him goodnight, the sentence more a tumble of words than coherent sentence.

And when at last he turned and left, it was with eyes long made glossy with unshed tears that Rose shook her head and closed the door. Leaning her forehead against the thick oak paneling under her fingers, Rose raised one trembling finger to touch lips that even now held the memory of his kiss. Her shoulder's shook, but not a sob escaped her.

"_I'm sorry._" He'd said as he looked at her. They had created a beautiful dream in the month past, but that was all it could ever be, a _dream_.

"_I'm sorry." He'd said._

Rose choked out a sharp, pained, laugh, the tears falling silently as she spoke.

"Forgive me brother, but I'm not. I _can't_."


	17. 17 Cloud

**AN:** I am SOOOOO sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter out. Life has been terribly crazy as of late and any/all semblance of personal time has disappeared. In any case I took some time today to write this piece because it's been sitting in the back of my mind ever since I posted the last chapter. It takes place during the 'happy' months between Rose and Logan - a time I glossed over last time. I wanted it to be a sort of insight into their relationship, while also trying to tie up some loose ends.

Again, I am so sorry about how late this is! Enjoy!

~Voi

As always - I don't own anything belonging to the Fable world :)

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**Theme 17: Cloud**

"Tell me I'm not dreaming."

She lay beside him on the bed, face turned towards him as she savored the peace of the early morning. Smoothing the wayward hair on his head, she gently combed through the silken locks savoring the way his eyes closed in trust, in contentment.

Around her waist, his arm tightened ever so slightly as she smiled, pressing her face to the strong slope of his shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent.

"You're not dreaming. This is real."

Beneath her hands, his chest rose once, twice, the breaths evening out, slowing as he internalized her words. His lips slowly turned into a slight smile, one she could sense though she remained tucked against his chest.

"Good."

And though they both knew she had to attend to court, to her young son and the various other matters of the kingdom, they lingered in bed.

Quietly tracing patterns onto the bare skin of her shoulder, Logan opened his eyes to Rose's serene expression, dusky lashes fluttering wide only when he stopped. When he began again he watched with an amused smile as she closed her eyes once again.

_So spoiled, his little princess._

The thought filtered through his mind of a quiet wave of comfort, followed quickly by a twinge of guilt. By all rights she was _no ones_, let alone _his_, princess. But the possessiveness was there in the way he held her close, the way his hands smoothed over the curve of her waist, the slope of her cheek.

"Do you think Jasper knows?"

She asked him after a few more moments of blissful silence, her amber eyes opening to fix him with a look. Thinking back to the many afternoons they had lain together, Rose's mouth turned to a frown.

Logan looked at the pout on her little bow mouth, touching the corner with a tapered finger. Ever serious, his dark eyes caught the flicker of emotion across her face and felt an echo of similar emotions within his heart.

"Would it matter?"

His voice rumbled deep in his chest, and Rose pressed herself closer, favoring the dark flavor of his words.

"I suppose not…"

She sighed slowly, the warmth of her breath coasting across Logan's exposed neck. "I do wonder though. What we are doing is not terribly proper."

When he remained silent this time Rose turned to look at her brother, catching only a fleeting glance of distress before it disappeared from his features.

"Logan?" She spoke his name softly, worriedly, eyes searching in earnest for the truth of his feelings. "I…"

She floundered with her words, struggling to ease the terrible guilt that hovered overhead. Closing her eyes in frustration, they opened not a moment later when Logan easer her onto her back, leaning over her to softly kiss her mouth.

"Don't think about it."

His words ran ragged an emotion she couldn't identify, a desperation she felt within her own chest. Looking into his dark eyes, this handsome face he seemed entirely in control of himself, but it was his voice that gave him away.

"Don't think about it?"

She echoed back in a spare whisper.

His lips twisted into a small mocking smile, "Don't think at all."

And as he leaned down to kiss her once more, dragging her away from her thoughts with a familiarity and passion that felt forever intoxicating, Rose realized that forgetting would not be hard at all.

She woke up several hours later to the sound of children laughing.

At her side Logan slept on, his dark hair half covering his eyes, making him look so young, vulnerable even. Lingering for just a second more, Rose pressed a soft kiss to his temple before turning to go.

Slipping away from his warm body, she dragged her silk robe over her shoulders and strode to the large windows that overlooked the garden. She could see Luke playing with some of the servants' children, his small face turned upwards in delight as he was included in their games.

They had only just moved decided to visit the castle, and Rose had had more than a few reservations about the taking her son away from the only home he had known. Still, Luke had adjusted well, and watching him grown more confident, happier each day was in itself a precious gift.

"Are you alright?"

His arms came around her waist, his mouth pressing a chaste kiss to her neck before placing another on her cheek. She smiled but didn't turn to look at him; her eye's too focused on her son.

_Happy at last…thank goodness. _

"Rose?"

"I'm just thinking about Luke…nothing is wrong."

"Nothing?"

"No…nothing." There was a twinge of _something_ that suggested she might be lying, but she shoved the feeling away. "I've spent the entire morning with you, Luke is finally making friends here in the castle…and it is _beautiful _outside."

"Hmmm."

His hands rubbed slowly up and down her arms as he turned his attention to the young boy playing outside. Together they stood in silence merely observing the boy that was both son and nephew.

"He _has_ been doing well, hasn't he?"

Her smile widened, in pride, in affection. Luke may well be King someday, responsible for the whole kingdom. But for now he could remain a child, remain innocent. Rose knew she would protect him for as long as possible.

Just as her brother had done what he could, so too would she defend her son against the cruel realities that came with being Albion's monarch.

Looking up at the blue sky, Rose thought she saw something in the corner of her eye and turned to look. But no sooner had she begun to move her head when Logan's hand closed around her arm and drew her away from the window.

Lost in the flutter of gauzy curtains, Rose focused instead on her brother.

"We should get to work." He explained softly, as he led her to her closet, warm hand rubbing the top of her hand in soothing circles.

"Any longer would be irresponsible."

She had no reason to question his logic, to fault his thought process. And so she disappeared behind the dressing screen with little complaint. A smile, a whispered word of affection passed from her lips before Rose the woman vanished, turning into Rose the Queen.

As he waited, the fallen King closed his eyes against the wrenching in his chest, willing himself to find the strength to hold on one more day. Committing to memory every tender touch, every laugh and precious whisper, Logan stood stoically awaiting her reappearance.

He knew his time with her was coming to an end, could _feel_ it as surely as the heart beat in his chest. Logan turned towards the window, a frown on his lips.

In the otherwise perfect sky hung a single, impending, raincloud.

Rose never saw it coming.


	18. 18 Tapestry

**AN:** Hello my lovelies, thank you all so much for your continued support these past couple of weeks. I know I've been terrible at getting these chapters to you and I am so SO sorry. RL is just taking all my time away from writing and I've been sorely pressed to get these pieces done. I WILL keep working on these, but just keep in mind that it may be another week (or two) until the next one comes out.

Again, I am sorry these are taking so long - but thank you all so much for being there to spur me on, it means a lot :)

~Voi

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**Theme 18: Tapestry **

It had been snowing for nearly a week, beautiful and serene, coating all of Albion in a beautiful lacey veil. And though it was freezing outside, the roaring fireplace kept her warm, the Queen curled up on the couch, a blanket around her laps. Luke played quietly on the floor in front of the hearth, making small noises under his breath.

Rose looked out the window at the flakes, watched as they clung to the window and the trees just beyond. There was no denying the beauty of the season, but as she breathed in the sweet scent of cookies and spiced cider the Queen wondered not for the first time where _he_ was. They had always spent the winter months together; not this year. Part of her knew that they would not for many years to come.

The thought still had the strength to drive the breath from her lungs.

"Are you ok, Mum?"

Her son's voice called her out of her solidarity, demanding her attention though the child had not specifically asked for such. Rose had barely enough energy to muster a smile as she turned to look at his large puppy-dog eyes.

"Of course, Sweetheart. Why?"

Hands relaxed their tense clenching in her lap, an action more for her sons benefit that a reflection of her true emotion.

"You…seem sad." Looking at the ground, Luke scuffed the ground with one small foot, "Did I do something wrong?"

Sniffing slightly, the little boy's bottom lip trembled, "I promise not to do it again…I don't know what I did, but I promise I won't do it if it makes you sad."

_So sweet and genuine, her little son was._

Rose's lips turned upwards in a real smile and she beckoned him closer, picking him up and cuddling him close when he neared her.

"You did nothing wrong, dear heart," speaking into his little mop of hair, she gently rocked him back and forth, cooing softly to ease the tense set of tiny shoulders. "Mum is just a little sensitive right now."

Luke was silent for a moment, "…nothing?"

A soft sigh of exasperation issued from Rose's mouth, "No. Nothing…you've been a very good boy. Mummy just hasn't been feeling well."

"Is it because of Logan?"

Speaking without thinking, Luke's large eyes widened in horror as his mother stilled suddenly, pain slashing across her features. And because in many ways he was still a baby, the little boy began to cry in earnest, knowing her had hurt his mother with his question.

Large wrenching sobs shook his small body as he curled into a little miserable ball. And that was when Rose realized how very perceptive her sensitive son was to her pain. As much as she had tried to suppress the pain, the hurt, it seemed her little boy had seen and felt it all.

"Oh Luke…"

Rose pressed him back to her chest, murmuring softly as she wiped away giant crocodile tears. "I'm so sorry dear heart; I've been a terrible mother."

"N-no…it's…*sniff* all my fault." Half lost in the dejected whimper of his voice, Luke continued to champion his mother by belittling himself.

_Such a selfless little son she had._

Rose sighed as she continued to mumble soft apologies for her actions, hands continuing to rub his back in comforting circles. It was only when his shuddering had subsided into the occasional quiet whimper that the queen pulled away to get a better look at her son's face.

Smoothing away the last of his tears, she gifted him with a gentle smile before speaking.

"Come on, it's time for bed."

Rose slowly got to her feet, still holding her son close, carrying him with an ease borne of her hero status.

It was strange, she reflected later on, lying next to Luke, how very rich her life was, with experience, memories of people, of places. Closing her eyes she could almost imagine each separate piece like a collection of colored strings, each one weaving around the other until they created the fabric that represented her life. A tapestry that made up her past, one she kept with her always.

Some threads were long, rich with history, people she had known for years that remained with her still. Others…she remembered Sir Walter and then Logan, her heart lurching painfully as she recalled them both.

And though she no longer had the strength to cry for either of them, a lone tear streaked down the smooth crest of her cheek and down onto the thick quilts below. Without another word, the queen of Albion slipped from one room to escape to her own, and when she fell asleep in her large bed it was in much the same way as she had years before.

Alone.

Luke woke up in the middle of the night to find himself tucked snuggly in his bed, but alone, and while he knew that big boys should remain in their rooms for the entire evening, Luke also knew that there was no way he could fall asleep without his mother.

Climbing out of bed, the small boy tugged on the knitted bathrobe and matching slippers before adventuring out into the hallway. Unable to help himself he had also brought along the wooden sword his mother had given him for his birthday. One always had to be prepared.

Indeed, no sooner had the young prince crossed half the distance of the hall when he heard a sound behind him.

"Mother?"

He could not see in the pitch black, but something told him that it was not his mother at the end of the hall. There was neither familiar scent in the air of her perfume, nor gentle murmur of her voice as he waited. Indeed the voice that responded was unquestionably male and though it was not one he recognized, it was at the same time comforting.

"Ah my sweet darling, what _are _you doing?"

As if on cue, a stream of moonlight revealed the flamboyantly dressed man sitting rather comfortably next to the woven image of Queen Sparrow, his top hat perched on his head despite the strangeness of the hour.

"Who are you?"

Years of hard living in Bowerstone Industrial prevented the small boy from trusting the mysterious man, despite his otherwise harmless comments. And indeed, not a second more had passed before the young boy recognized the strange specter that had so infiltrated his home.

"Mister Reaver, sir?"

Striving to sound brave, Luke puffed up his little chest, but couldn't stop his hands from clenching the small wooden sword at his side. From the darkness, his mother's trusted hound materialized at his side, quiet but alert; Luke took comfort in the dogs' considerable muscled bulk.

"Hello little pet."

The little boy hesitated, eyes flickering back to the strong war hound beside him, "Hello, Sir."

Frightened though he was, Rose has taught her the importance of decorum and manners far too well for him to forget them now. And though the young boy could barely make out the man's face in the dark, Reaver smiled crookedly, charmed with his grandson.

"How have you been my boy, your mother taking proper care of you?"

Luke squirmed slightly, looking down at the floor as he shook his head in the negative.

"Mum…is not well."

There was a glint in Reaver's eye as he studied the child before he turned to look at the painting of the woman to his right.

"Has she been ill then?"

His voice was a whisper though it carried easily through the cool winter air. Light though it had meant to be, by the time the words reached the prince there seemed almost a hint of emotion, of worry.

"She hasn't been the same since Logan left…and she _cries_ all the time!"

Luke blurted the words, unable to help how his thoughts flew steadily from his lip. Half horrified at revealing such a secret to an almost stranger, the boy paled until he looked almost ghostly in the darkness. But still he continued and every fear, worry and doubt spilled out in a rush of truths.

It was only when a large gloved hand pulled him towards a well-dressed chest that Luke realized he had cried his way into Reaver's lap. Awkward though it was, the once ruler of Bowerstone Industrial patted the top of the boy's head with a tenderness that went unspoken.

"You're too young to understand."

Reaver's hand made some useless gesture towards the tapestry, the blue-eyed queen presiding over the scene with quiet patience. A grandmother looking over her grandson, a woman watching over her lover, the painting was timeless. The painting was all _he_ had now.

"It's impossible to explain what it's like unless you've experience it. But your mother will learn…she will survive."

"How do you know?" Luke wanted to know, dripping tears onto expensive silk vests and tailored lapels. "She looks so sad."

"Sadness won't kill a person. Even sadness from a Hero like her doesn't have the power to steal life away."

"But how do you know?" The little boy repeated his question, eyes dark in the shadow of the taller man.

"Because I've had to do the same, and I'm alive aren't I?" Reaver patted the child on the head as he released the princeling to where the queen's trusted hound was waiting.

And though neither one of them spoke it was as if somehow, _someway_, Luke knew that those words had been a lie.

_I've done the same and I'm alive, aren't I?_

Reaver shook his head as he watched the young prince enter his mother's room before turning, as he had done for so many years, towards the image of the now passed hero queen, his mouth falling into that familiar sad smile.

"Nosey brat, our grandson." The immortal pirate groused to the tapestry, his mouth twisting in annoyance. "No better than our queen daughter and that hardheaded older brother she has. They get that from _you_ you know…_I_ was never this difficult."

The tapestry of Queen Sparrow never changed but Reaver snorted after a moment as a thought occurred to him. And though his words remained laced with the same arrogance and caustic humor, the smile on his lips before he disappeared was almost sad.

"Nah, you're probably right. They got that from me."


	19. 19 Silence

**AN:** Look! look! Another chapter - and this one in a timely manner :D I'm so happy to be able to give you guys this chapter so soon. You have all been wonderfully patient in the past so I figured why not try and get another chapter out?

I hope you guys like this one, truth be told this fic is winding down - maybe one or two more chapters max, but this is almost the end my dears!

Thank you all for your continued support - it means a lot to me!

~Voi

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**Theme 19: Silence**

He was everywhere she looked, everything she touched echoed with another memory of _him_, she could scarcely inhale without breathing in his familiar scent.

Another year come and gone, Luke another step closer to taking the throne, Albion flourishing amidst another full turn of the seasons.

Another _day_ and she was not crippled by pain, by cold or illness.

Closing her eyes the queen could replay her deal with Theresa, the price she paid to bring Logan back to life. But just as she could envision her own dealings with the seer, so too did _his_ voice echo in her mind, promising anything to keep _her_ safe, healthy.

Gazing at herself in the mirror Rose traced a long blue line from her collar to just below her breast, following the lazily curling pattern of flora on her tattoo. Breathing steadily her fingers grazed over old scars half hidden by ink and the prolonged effects of magic use.

She was healthy in all things, she should have been happy.

But to be healthy was to be free of Theresa's deal, and to be free of such contract meant that Logan continued to uphold his own.

And Rose wept bitterly at the thought, for it meant he loved her still. Wherever he was he cared for her just as deeply as he had before, and despite the distance continued to shelter the love he bore.

_She was all around him, in the softness of the curtains to the sunlight streaming through the grimy porthole of his ship cabin. Everything reminded him of her, her laughter carried on the sea wind, her comfort in the cloak he wore around his shoulders. Tugging the thick material closer Logan smoothed the embroidered edge of the cloak where Rose had sewn his name. It had been the last gift she had given him._

_His eyes slid shut as he tried to recall how long ago it had been since he had last seen her. A year, perhaps more had passed. But each day remained the same however, a struggle to push forward and not back; to stay away from her though everything in him longed for her. _

_` The boat pitched in the rough waters forcing him to open his eyes, to return back to the present. His lips twisted into a bitter smile as he looked around his bare room, he would not be aboard much longer, would not see Albion for quite some time. _

_Time would erase memories better than anything or anyone else. _

_In his travels people had often stopped him, asking who he was, if he was the queen's brother. The resemblance was striking, they had said, but time had cured their question, for he had remained silent, voiceless these many months. And so it was that Logan, once King of Albion, became nothing but a mute traveler, once of many faceless adventurers that so covered the continent. _

_But no matter how far he voyaged, how silent he remained, it was his heart that continued to remind him of his loss, and it was that terrible agony that often filled his mind, screamed unending into the wind. _

How long had it been since she had last woken to his tender kissed on her bare back, his hand brushing the hair from the nape of her neck?

She woke each morning alone, and though the tears had stopped long ago, the ache in her chest remained. Grief was not dulled by the passing of years, but she was accustomed to it now, and no longer did it seem to rob from her the strength to be queen of her kingdom.

Albion grew stronger each year, its people happier, healthier. Neighboring kingdoms remained cowed by the might of her armies though neither had they dared attack her nor she attack them. Rose had the loyalty of both soldiers and peasants alike, and there was no foreign power capable of breaking such a bond.

And so Rose watched as her son grew from childhood into his teenaged years, safe within a country free of conflict. From his tutors he learned about the world outside the kingdom and from his mother he gained a sense of responsibility, of decorum, of family and love. Queen she was, but to Luke she remained first and foremost his mother.

Gentle and caring, she guided him through the trials of court and life with a steady hand and an understand heart. In all things she put him first, and Luke was never in want for affection or support. But neither was he blind to the cost of her continued responsibility as queen.

Albion, she had told him, was more important than any individual person, no matter who they are. It did not, she said, mean that you did not love anyone any less, or refuse them the due to them, but as King or Queen you had to know that your actions could not be of selfish nature.

His mother did not have to speak of her brother for Luke to know of whom she was speaking. Rose had never quite been the same after he had left, her son noted silently. And as he watched her turn to greet the foreign ambassadors of Samarkand Luke knew that though neither one of them had mentioned it, there would never be another man with whom Rose would build a future. Albion would remain ruled by its lonely Queen until her son was ready.

_How many years had it been since he woke to her soft smile, the tender press of her lips to his own as she walked beside him? How long since he has last held her in his arms?_

_But it seemed no matter how dire the situation his heart remained fixed on her, and no matter of danger would change that. _

_The years had not been kind to Logan. _

_As he staggered beneath the burning heat of the sun, there was little he could think of beside the ache of his muscles as he swung his sword towards his opponent. They had been fighting for hours it seemed, encircled in an arena where only the victor was allowed to live, if just to fight again. _

_Parrying another blow, the silent man responded in kind, whipping his tapered blade forward with a viciousness borne of frustration, temper and loss. Finding its mark beneath the other's ribcage, Logan ran the poor man through in what was to be a death blow. _

_Around him the roar of crowds thundered in approval and from his place in the shade the man Logan had been forced to call 'master' nodded, his eyes sharp with victory. _

_A slave to a minor feudal lord whose name he could not pronounce, Logan's days were spent fighting, bleeding for the amusement of a crowd. But in the evenings, when the once warm air turned frigid and cold, Logan would close his eyes and imagine _her_ next to him, safe in his arms. His to protect, his to adore. The years may have passed, the silence between them grown longer with time, but his heart remained the same, her's forever. _

There was to be a wedding, it had taken nearly a decade of intensive negotiations, but now it was becoming a reality.

"Luke, please stop fidgeting, love."

Rose chided her adult son with a tender smile, "You're not seven anymore, standing still shouldn't be a problem."

From over the heads of the tailors, the handsome prince grinned back at his mother looking every inch the roguish heartbreaker Rose knew he _wasn't_. For all of his charms, cheer and flirtatious nature (Rose allowed herself to blame Reaver for such behavior) Luke had not strayed far from the quiet boy she had raised in the safety of her country cottage.

"Worried about me, mum?"

He finished dressing with an easy shrug, donning the ceremonial uniform of heir apparent and prince. Trimmed in soft ermine, the dark blue suited his tall figure.

"I just can't believe how much you've grown," Rose replied faintly, eyes appraising him, finding nothing wrong. "It feels like just yesterday you came home with me…oh dear…would you listen to me? I'm starting to sound _old_."

They both laughed, the joke one they had returned to many times since Rose had celebrated her 35th birthday. As a hero they both knew it was likely she would more than most, but the queen had pouted anyway.

Taking his mother's arm, Luke escorted her from the dressing chambers and into the hall.

"We have enough time to reach the throne room, Luke," Rose mumbled as she was hurried along by her bright eyed son, "Or is it that you want to get there before Khasadim arrives with his daughter."

Luke's cheeks flushed brilliantly at the comment, and the boy looked momentarily bashful as he paused just shy of the doors in question.

"_Mum_."

Grinning, Rose patted her boy on the cheek, "I know…you'll do fine. Just promise me you didn't accept this proposal just to make me happy."

"I didn't." Luke flushed darker as he fingered the ring in his palm, "I love her mum."

And that was all Rose needed to know before she propelled them both into the Throne room, her diminutive form commanding the respect of all those within.

The minor Samarkand lord, Khasadim, arrived not a moment later, his daughter at his side. Both resplendent in gold and silver cloth and behind them followed a small battalion of soldiers. All armed with the traditionally curved swords of their forefathers, it was with passing amusement that Rose noted one of them seemed fond of the Albion straight edge instead.

"Welcome to our home, Khasadim." Clasping the man on the arm, Rose went through the formalities as Luke stood beside her, patiently awaiting his lady. Beside her father, the Samarkand princess smiled demurely at her betrothed, her dark eyes glittering beneath thick lashes.

"Your majesty, Prince Luke."

"Milady Shirin."

The two young royals had met as children and grown closer with each successive visit. Shirin was to live in Albion after the wedding took place, and while it was doubtful the Queen was going to abdicate the throne until a much later date, the young couple was happy to be bonded.

As final negotiations concluded, the lord Kasadim bid one of his guards remain with his daughter for as long as she was to remain at the castle. The wedding was not for several days, but Shirin was free to tour the castle, her father had been placed in one of the sumptuous suites not far away and all were in good spirits.

Bidding the older man a nice evening as he left to tour the gardens, Rose was just about to leave for her study when Luke's voice gave her pause.

"Mother."

Turning to where he was standing beside the pretty Samarkand girl, the queen of Albion frowned, not understanding what was wrong. But no sooner had she opened her mouth to ask her question when her eyes fell on _him_.

There was no helping her sharp intake of breath.

"Oh Avo…"

Her voice shook beneath the whisper because she _knew_ those dark eyes, recognized that midnight hair no matter how long it had grown.

She had not cried since that night so long ago, had found herself completely empty year after year, but there was no mistaking the feeling now, tears running in rivulets down her cheeks as she covered her mouth with her hands. Dressed in white turban and the opulent silks of a favored servant, the bodyguard remained rigidly in place, eyes meeting her own unflinchingly.

She wanted to call his name, to run to him and throw her arms around him. There was no stopping the way her shoulder shook from the force it took to contain her emotion, the control it took to keep her voice strangled in her throat, hidden behind her hands.

It was oniy when Luke excused both himself and his betrothed that Rose finally allowed herself to move.

He was faster.

And in the end it was she who found herself in _his_ arms, the feel of him overwhelming as he pulled her closer, burying himself in the softness of her hair.

And then she did cry, sobbed desperately as she pressed her mouth to his own in a fevered kiss that spoke of years of terrible longing and loneliness.

"I missed you, my love."

"I've missed you too, Logan."

And with those words the silence was broken.


	20. 20 Happiness

AN: Ok...so here it is, the final chapter (or at least...what I think is the final chapter) of Queens Waltz. I am sorry for how long this took me - but I am rather pleased with how this finished in the end. I tried to keep things fairly general because there is so much of this story that I feel can keep living by letting the reader retain some sense of imagination. If there are any things in particular you would want me to address, feel free to post it in comments and I might end up writing another chapter...but otherwise this is indeed the final look at Rose and Logan in Queens Waltz.

Thank you all so much for taking the time to read, review and just giving it a bit of your time. I hope you enjoyed this journey, I know I did.

Best wishes to everyone - reader, writer and reviewer - you guys are the better than I could have asked for!

Much love!

~Voi

**

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**Theme 20: Happiness**

"Papa, papa! Lucius has gotten stuck in a tree again, come quick!"

The years had passed swiftly by and Luke was now the King of Albion, his beloved wife now the mother to his two children. A Golden Age had descended upon the kingdom, his mother's gift to him and her grandchildren, and there seemed no end to the peace the once embattled kingdom enjoyed.

"What was that darling?"

Slowly descending the staircase to enter the manicured gardens of Bowerstone Castle, Luke scanned the shrubs in search of his daughter.

"Tessie?"

At his question the little princess appeared, looking every inch her grandmother's grandchild in the impeccably clean dress that offset the almost rustic leather gloves she wore on her hands. Replicas of her grandmother's magic gauntlets, Theresa – Tessie to her parents – was never without them.

"You must come quick Papa; he's climbed that tree again, even though I _told_ him not to!"

His little girl's imperious frown was yet another mirror of her grandmother, and Luke felt a momentary pang in his chest. He was not sure he would ever truly manage to sooth the pain cause by her absence, he was a boy no longer, but the loss of family was never easily accepted.

_How long had it been since she had left?_

Absently, Luke began to count as he followed his daughter through the gates of the garden and slowly plodded through the maze. He did not have to think about where he was going, a childhood spent at the palace had taught his muscles which way led through the garden's complex layout.

Left, right, right…

And there, amidst the lush foliage of Bowerstone Garden stood the statue of Albion's recently departed Hero Queen. A creation meant to commemorate her many years of service, of vigilant protection and heartfelt caring for her people; the image of Queen Rose seemed almost otherworldly as the sunlight cast penetrating beams of gold through the translucent stone.

He had never had to face the ghosts and spirits of Albion's more ancient landmarks, but the evanescent image before his eyes seemed to embody his imagined picture of the creatures. Beautiful and yet fleeting, it took only a single cloud to destroy the illusion. It was only when the stones had lost their lustrous glow that Luke returned to himself with a start, continuing anew towards where his daughter was.

Yet he had not yet crossed out of the statue's shadow when he heard _her_ voice.

_"Luke."_

Her voice was as elusive as a shadow, whispery thin but it reached him despite the distance. Turning to look at her, the statue, the memory of her last goodbye filled his mind, colored the space before her eyes until it was almost like she was there.

_"You better look after my grandchildren when I'm gone." Her expression had been serious for only a moment before a smile softened the corners of her mouth. "I don't want to come back and find them all straight-laced and without an adventurous bone in their body." _

_Her eyebrow had arched at him then, almost comical as she wiggled it at him, laughingly demanding a promise to nurture the curious nature that seemed so part of the royal family._

_Luke fretted for a moment that it was this very spirited characteristic that was putting his mother in harm's way._

"_Will you be alright with just the two of you on the boat?"_

_The glint in her eyes, so recently returned with _his_ uncles' reappearance, sparkled, "More than alright, Luke. You know we can take care of ourselves."_

_"I know but…"_

_"You worry."_

_Tutting affectionately, the shorter woman had gathered him to her, gently hugging him close. It was the quiet that soothed them both, mother and son savoring the peace that was so rare when managing a kingdom. _

_"He will look after me," Rose spoke after a while, "He always has, even when he was not around."_

_"And now that he is…" Luke led quietly._

_"There is nothing to worry about dear heart. I am so pleased, to have you grown so well…to see him again." A smile warmed her face then and Luke watched as the years all but disappeared, revealing the young woman his mother remained at her core, at her heart. _

_"You love him?" He asked, for what was to be the final time._

_His mother could not have appeared more radiant._

_"With everything I am."_

The image began to fade then, disappearing as the illusionary image of his mother walked towards the docks and the ship that waited in the sea. Luke did not have to see him, to know the man who waited for her at the shore.

It could be no other man, for it was only with him that she was whole.

It was only with him that she could find peace.

And because he loved them both, because he was _their_ son, he let them go; smiling as he turned out of the garden alcove Luke cast one last thoughtful look at the statue before going in search of his young children.

Perhaps one day she would come back. But until then, it made him glad to know she had found happiness at last.

"You don't regret anything?" Logan asked softly as he pressed another kiss onto her shoulder, waiting silently as she absorbed his tender affection.

Rose smiled, the wind whipping her curls around in a fiery mane, looking for all the world like she did those many years ago as a girl.

"I can't regret anything that brought you back to me."

Turning to him as she examined the flecks of grey beginning to silver his temples, Rose smiled knowing her own hair was just starting to do the same. The stresses of ruling paired with all the hardships of the past year had aged them both before their time. But for all the lines on his face, the slight creases at the corners of his eyes, Rose still believed her brother to be the most handsome man she had ever met.

She smiled at the thought, taking heart from the sentiment that had filled her so regularly each day that she woke to find him beside her. Looking back to the sea, Rose lost herself to the familiar thoughts.

Behind her, Logan pressed another kiss into her hair before slowly drawing away, the sails of the ship demanding his attention. Efficiently accomplished, the heavy canvas was pulled taut, lashed skillfully to the appropriate beams before he returned.

It had been nearly a year since they had left Albion's main port, and their travels had taught them both much, about themselves, about each other.

A small, almost imperceptible smile crossed his lips as he slowly inhaled her soft scent, wrapping his arms around her as her perfume did the same to his brain. He had not forgotten her in the many years they had been apart, but to find her so near made her scent the most intoxicating of experiences.

Closing his eyes, he sighed almost imperceptibly, finding that she did the same, snuggling against him as she slowly exhaled. Neither one could see the other's face, but their hearts were in the same place, their lips in the same smile they had inherited from their mother.

Separated yet brought back together.

Siblings and yet somehow more.

There were some things they would never be able to do, could never bring themselves to do though they loved one another without reservation.

Marriage, children, a life of normalcy in Albion.

None of these things could be theirs…and yet, they were together anyway.

Together and _happy_.

"Logan?"

The setting sun cast them both in golden light, reflecting off the water and filling their sails with the sweet brassy gold that was nature's wealth.

"Yes Rose?"

"Should we set a course back to Albion?"

"To pay our grandchildren a visit?" Logan asked, finishing her thought as he tugged gently her hand, drawing her towards the small open space on the ship's deck. Hands settling at her waist, he watched with muted affection as her golden-cast hair tumbled behind her in with wind, brushing his cheek as the curls came undone.

A soft smile curved along both their lips in an imperfect mirror of one another.

"Of course."

Like a slow waltz through time they circled one another, borne of trust, loyalty and love. They knew they did not have forever, but they had each other – and that was all either one would ever need...

And far away, in a distant mansion, illuminated only by the dim light in a sumptuous private office, a lone figure looked up at the painting of a woman, a Queen, and truly smiled.

"Well done, milady. Well done…my little girl."


End file.
